Proof of Existence
by Zaabeth
Summary: America wasn't crazy. He knew he wasn't. He was just sick and tired of people telling him that Matthew Williams didn't exist.
1. Conviction

**Short? Yes. Good? You tell me.**

******Let me know if you think this is worth continuing.**

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America wasn't crazy.

He knew he wasn't. It was impossible. He was a nation. And nations didn't just go insane. They didn't just start seeing things that weren't there.

And so, America had long ago decided, he wasn't crazy.

Hell, he even entertained England and went to see a therapist.

Multiple therapists, even.

And he was declared to be perfectly sane multiple times, thank you very much.

There wasn't a single sign that indicated that he had schizophrenic tendencies, or that he could be psychotic or bipolar. Nothing to suggest he could be depressed, or have dissociative identity disorder, or anything that could possibly be making him… _see_ things.

He. Was. Perfectly. Sane.

Of course he was. He was the hero after all.

_I told you I wasn't crazy,_ he had told England after his fourth session, _so stop telling me that I'm 'just seeing_ _things'._

Yet England, as well as the other nations, would keep giving him strange, worried looks when America got on their case about being forgetful. About their ignorance.

_How could you forget him_, he would ask angrily, _he's my fucking brother_.

Time after time they would tell him that he doesn't have a brother. That America was talking about somebody that doesn't exist.

That there's no such person as Matthew Williams.

And America was sick and tired of people telling him that Matthew Williams didn't exist.


	2. Discussion

**Hello Everyone. I had a fairly good response to the first chapter, so here's chapter number two.**

**I hope you all enjoy, andplease tell me what you think!**

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"You know what England told me today?" America asked as he leaned back in his chair. He had his arms crossed behind his head and his chair was dangerously close to tipping over.

He didn't wait for an answer before continuing.

"He tried convincing me _again_ that you didn't exist." America laughed loudly, tilting his head to the side. "You know what I think? I think they're all crazy."

He laughed again before looking up at the ceiling. "You know…" he said again, expression turning more serious, "it's really starting to get on my nerves… I mean, they all keep telling me the same things over and over again. You'd think they'd learn."

America allowed his chair to fall back on four legs. Turning around to straddle the seat, he faced the space in front of him. "You should really just speak up and tell them off." America waited a moment before frowning. "Yeah, yeah, don't give me that look. I know how you hate talking to people, but seriously bro, come on."

His statements were met with silence.

"Look Mattie, I'm just saying. It's like they can't even see you." America scratched his head absentmindedly. "And I'm the one who keeps having to put them straight. I think if you'd just try and speak up every once and a while that they'd remember ya', maybe."

America then chuckled slightly, face breaking out into a grin. "Damn, and they call _me_ stupid. Like seriously, how can they _not_ know that you exist." Resting his chin on and hands, the American smirked slightly. "What about you, bro? You think I'm stupid too, like the rest of them?"

There was a moment of silence.

Then…

Canada smiled. "Of course not, Al."


	3. Fascination

**And here's the next chapter. Another short one (they're all gonna be short) but I hope it'll get the point across.**

**Pretty much each chapter will focus on one event or one idea, moving the story along one step at a time.**

**Please tell me what you think. What are your ideas on this?**

**And thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. They mean so much to me. :)**

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England was worried. And how could he _not_ be? This crazy _thing_ had been going on for far too long.

It had started off passively enough; just the odd look here or there, a seemingly random action or opinion, nothing that raised any alarms. Oh, everyone noticed the weird behaviour, but no one thought much of it.

Then the actions became frequent. A pattern arose in the oddities. Those random opinions he'd voice during meetings no longer seemed random.

And a name started being mentioned.

Matthew Williams. Canada.

And it was consuming _him_.

This notion of _Canada_ was starting to consume _America_.

And England wasn't the only one who was worried. _Everyone_ was noticing, and _everyone_ was getting just a little bit concerned.

No one wanted to have the world's current superpower going _insane_ (for lack of a better word).

Yet that's what seemed to be happening.

And ever since this _thing_ had started - ever since America began talking to someone who _wasn't there_ - England had done his best to help his former colony.

_You're just tired_, he had said countless times, _just get some rest._

But he knew that America got more than enough sleep.

_You've been watching too many horror films_, he'd tried reasoning, _you're just imagining things._

But he knew that America avoided watching scary movies.

_You need help, lad_, he had advised, _your __Canada doesn't exist._

But the therapists kept declaring America perfectly sane.

And despite everyone's words, America remained fascinated by the idea of Matthew Williams.

No one knew what was going on. America just thought everyone else was being ignorant and blind. And everyone else just thought America was crazy.

No one knew what was going on... except for England.

And England desperately hoped that he was wrong.


	4. Obsession

**Alright, probably the shortest chapter yet (sorry), but the point I'm getting across here (part of my head-canon) is pretty important. And don't worry about England, we'll get back to him soon enough.**

**And your reviews and favs and alerts are all completely amazing, so thank you all so much! **

**Enjoy.**

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"Dude, are you seriously this blind? He's standing _right there_."

With a grand sweep of his arm, America indicated to a spot roughly five feet away.

France rolled his eyes.

"And as I've said before, _Amerique_, there _is _no one _there_. That space you keep pointing to is completly _empty_."

America finally stopped his frantic gesturing, giving the spot to his left a brief sympathetic look.

Looking back to the Frenchman, America frowned. "You're being way too harsh, dude. He's your former colony, for God's sake!" He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Do you seriously not remember Canada? What about Matthew Williams? Or Mattie? Anything ringing a bell here?"

France looked at America sadly, averting his eyes at the mention of the nation's personal name.

"Well yes, _Amérique_, I know of Canada..." America started to cut-in, but France continued over him. "...the _country_ - it's the country just above yours - but..." And this is where France paused, eyeing America anxiously.

"But what?" America bit out a little more harshly than he had intended.

France frowned solemnly, eyeing America with more than a bit of worry. "Well, you see, Canada... never developed a nation representative. There is no _Canada_... or Mattieu, as you keep calling him." There was a moment a silence before France added, "Never was, if I'm not mistaken." There was a sense of reluctant conviction in his words.

America gave France a disbelieving look. "Yeah right, as if that could happen."

"Oh, but it can. There are many countries - in Africa, Asia, and even Europe - that don't have a national representative. It happens more often than you'd think."

America frowned. "Uh huh. And you're trying to tell me..."

"That the country of Canada is the same?" France sighed dejectedly. "Yes, _Amérique_. That is exactly what I'm trying to tell you. This _Canada_ that you speak of does not _exist_."


	5. Complication

**And here's the next chapter. Hope all you wonderful people like it. Your reviews and favs are all awesomely awesome, thank you so much.**

**I own nothing except this plot.**

**Enjoy.**

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"Hey Mattie?" America asked after a long moment of internal conflict.

Across the living room, Canada looked up from his book. Seeing that something was clearly on his brother's mind, he folded the corner of the page and placed the paperback off to his side. "Yeah?" he replied, tilting his head slighly in question.

"Well, I've been thinking..." America trailed off, looking uncertain.

Canada smirked slightly. "Oh, thanks for the warning. I should probably run for cover right now, eh?"

"Oh, haha, funny," America replied with little enthusiasm. "No, seriously dude, I've been thinking about... about what France told me. You know, about the... _existing _thing," he finished somewhat awkwardly.

The smile Canada was wearing vanished. "Oh, yeah... _that_." He looked away awkwardly. "Um, what about it, Al?"

America shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. "Well, you see, I did some... uh, research, and it seems like there _are_ many countries that don't have a nation representative. Like Kosovo, or Myanmar, or Guyana, or Lesotho. For some countries, representatives just never appear."

Canada blinked owlishly. "Ah, I see. I didn't know that you'd... uh, looked into this so much."

America averted his gaze. "Yeah, I just wanted to... to _check_ on what France had said."

"Um, right. Ok."

There was a moment of awkward silence, then...

Canada turned away, speaking in a small voice. "I, uh... I can understand i-if you think I don't exist, Al. It's ok... I don't w-want you to feel bad." He looked down at the floor. "I can... leave you alone... i-if you want me to..."

"Of course not, Mattie! That's not what I'm saying," America said earnestly. "I'd never want you to _leave_. And of course I still b-believe you exist!" He hoped that Canada didn't notice his unintentional stutter. "The others are just idiots for not being able to see you."

And as Canada smiled gratefully, America may have felt just a little bit guilty. He'd ment every word he'd said, but, if he were to be completely honest with himself... there was just a little, tiny seed of doubt growing somwhere deep inside him.


	6. Disillusion

**Alrighty then, here's the next chapter. Hope you guys will like the POV here, since I decided to change it up. I hope I wrote it well enough...**

**And thank you so much for all the love this story has gotten. I'm so happy that you guys like it. As always, please review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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Canada had seen the guilt and uncertainty in his brother's eyes. He knew that America's conviction was faltering. That America was slowly starting to believe the other nation's words.

That America may soon leave Canada alone and separated from _everyone_.

And Canada didn't know what to think.

He knew he was kind of a burden. He didn't mean to be, but since no one else could see or hear him, America was his only way to be part of what was going on. America didn't seem to mind, and if he did, he didn't show it.

And America definitely had no qualms about speaking to Canada while in public, regardless of whether it made him look a little crazy. He was used to the odd looks and whispers behind his back - used to people _and _nations thinking he was not just a bit daft, but a bit crazy as well.

But Canada didn't think America was crazy. Well, at least he hoped his brother wasn't.

For if America were crazy, then wouldn't Canada just be a figment of his imagination?

For as long as he could remember, Canada had always been ignored and pushed back and forgotten. No one could ever remember who he was. Oh, people could remember his _country _- the kind, peacekeeping neighbour of America - but no one knew who _Matthew Williams_ was. It was difficult, but Canada managed, deciding to continuing living his somewhat lonely existence.

But still...

Only _one _person could see him. Only _one_ person could hear him or talk to him.

And that was his brother, America.

And now, after centuries of being told he was just a figment of America's imagination - that Canada _didn't actually exist_ - Canada could see that his brother was starting to doubt himself. Was starting to doubt Canada.

And as America - the one person who had always told Canada that _he was real_ - began to lose his steadfast conviction, Canada found himself losing faith as well.


	7. Question

**Aha, this chapter is a bit late, isn't it? Sorry about that, but University has started up and damn, my life's gotten really busy all of a sudden...**

**Anyways, here it is. Short, yes, but all the chapters are going to be like that. And I actually have some building plot in chapter, so yay, plot!**

**I own nothing!**

**Enjoy.**

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England was looking forward to a nice day free from meetings and confrences. A day of tea and relaxation and no responibilities. He had it all planned out, from morning to night. A day where he could do little to nothing and feel _good_ about it.

And when an annoying American came knocking on his door at 6 o'clock in the morning, England realized that his day was never meant to be.

"America, what in God's name are you doing here?" England gripped his mug of tea tightly, as if afraid it'd be taken away from him. "It's bloody _early _and it must be even _earlier_ at your place and you _hate_ waking up early."

Standing in the open doorway, America shifted awkwardly, avoiding England's tired gaze.

"Oh, right, yeah... I'm sorry." America's voice sounded a bit odd, almost forced. "I... uh, I'll just be leaving, then. Sorry."

Frowning at the American's strange behaviour, England finally took a moment to actually _look_ at the lad.

And he realized that something was _wrong_. Really wrong.

"Oh no, you're not leaving just yet." England gripped America's shoulder and pulled the surprisingly compliant nation inside. "There's something bothering you, isn't there?" He sat America down at the kitchen table and went to brew him some of that horrible black liquid called coffee. "And you look like you need to talk. So talk. Now."

"England, it's fine. Really." But America's blue eyes told a different story. "I shouldn't have come. I can leave-"

"You're staying right here until you tell me what's wrong." England spun around to face the reluctant American. "You don't just show up here looking like _that_," he gestured to America's disheveled and worn out appearence, "and expect me to turn you away."

"I-I'm fine."

"No you're not." England noticed how America was avoiding his gaze. Grimacing, he tried to soften his tone. "You obviously came here looking for help, so let me help you."

There was a tense moment of silence where America didn't move, his gaze trained on the floor. Then, finally, his point of focus wandered up to meet England's concerned eyes.

And England could clearly see the conflict and uncertainty written on the younger nation's face.

"Alfred... what's wrong?" England rarely used any nation's human name, but he felt that this situation called for it.

America took a deep breath. "I- Can you..." He briefly closed his eyes. "Ok, I have a question. And... and can you be... c-_completely _honest about the answer?"

England blinked. "Of course."

America exhaled deeply before looking England directly in the eyes. "I just want to figure this all out... once and for all." He paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. "Tell me... _truthfully_...does _Canada _exist?"

_Is Matthew Williams real?_


	8. Confusion

**Ok, yes, this probably isn't the chapter you were all waiting for... but we need some kind of set up for that last chapter there, don't we? (_Yes_, you say, _of course we do,_you say) *dies***

**Alright, we shall get back to THE QUESTION next chapter. I Promise. But first we needed _this_ (see chapter below). So yeah. Please read and review and continue being awesome. 'Cause you guys are all really amazing and I love every single one of your reviews and favs and follows. You're all wonderful.****  
**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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_"There is no Canada."_

_"This brother of yours is just a figment of your imagination."_

_"Matthew Williams doesn't exist."_

America had heard it all more times than he'd care to remember. It was an annoyance, something he'd tune out and ignore. Just meaningless chatter that he'd never believe.

But then suddenly...

Those words began to invade his thoughts. He would start wondering why he was the only one who could see Canada, or why no one else noticed when Canada moved something like a chair or briefcase. Or why Canada never really touched anyone, including America. Or how Canada's government didn't really even remember him...

Oh, he'd initally tried to dismiss those thoughts, but they would keep coming back, more powerful and more convincing.

His conviction of Canada's existence was under attack and there was nothing America could do to stop it.

And America hadn't wanted to admit to anyone, least of all himself, that there was a small seed of doubt growing. He was the hero. And heros weren't supposed to be uncertain or confused or doubtful. They also weren't supposed to lose track of reality.

America didn't quite feel like a hero at this moment.

He needed to talk to someone; someone who wold hear him out and not judge him too badly. The first person who came to mind was Canada, but America realized that wouldn't work. He couldn't talk to a potential hallucination about his potential hallucinations. That was just redundant.

And America knew what the others would be no help. They'd pretend to care, maybe offer assistance in the form of medications or psychiatric aid, but that wasn't what America wanted.

He never wanted to get rid of Canada. He just wanted to know the _truth_.

And there was only one person America could think of who would be able to help him - who would have a chance of knowing this truth.

America could be observant when he wanted to be, and he had noticed something perculiar. When everyone else would give him strange and worried looks, there was just this one person who looked at him with sadness, comprehension, and maybe just a little bit of...

Guilt.

England.

England knew something - and despite his uncertainty, America wanted to know it too.

And so America had finally decided to go and confront him.

"Tell me... truthfully..._ does Canada exist_?"


	9. Contradiction

**Y****ep, here it is. The next chapter. Hopefully this will satisfy all you guys who wanted THE ANSWER in the last chapter. ****Now, the TRUTH will be delivered over a few chapters, so stay patient my friends, since this is only the beginning.**

******I love all the favs/follows/reviews this story is getting. You guys are all amazing! Thank you so much!**

**And wow, this is really turning into quiet the project isn't it? So tell me how I'm doing, I'd really like to hear.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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England's eyes widened slightly. Of all the things he'd thought America might ask him, the question of Canada's existence had been the last thing on his mind. And that wasn't because England _forgot _Canada or _didn't know _who Canada was...

No, England knew Canada better than he let on.

But it was the last thing he'd thought America would ask him because America _never_ asked for clarification on Canada's existence. He was the one who preached it to others, he didn't need anyone else's opinion.

And yet here America was, sitting in his kitchen asking him whether or not Matthew Williams was real.

Without even really thinking about it, England started voicing his usual response to whenever Canada was mentioned. "There is no national representation of Can-"

"Don't give me that shit."

England blinked, thrown off guard. "Excuse me?"

America gave him a steely look, the awkwardness and uncertainty from before hidden beneath a mask of determination. "I said don't give me that shit. About the representatives and crap. I don't care about_ that_. What I want to know is if Canada - my _brother_ - exists. Matthew Williams."

England looked away. "You're contradicting yourself, lad. I don't see how what you're asking me is any different than the answer I gave you. Matthew, Canada, the Canadian national representative, they're all the same person... they don't exist."

America frowned, but stayed silent.

England sighed. "You knew what my answer was going to be, so why did you come all the way here just to ask me this?"

America placed his hands out on the table, giving England an odd look. "I think you know something," he said cautiously, watching England's reaction. "And that's why I came here. Because I think you _know_ about Canada… and not like the others do…"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" England asked guardedly, feeling perhaps just a little bit nervous.

America tilted his head to the side. "You're just… different." He leaned back in his chair, feeling a little more confident with what he was saying. "I _know_ the others think I'm off my rocker. But you… I just don't get the feeling that you think I'm crazy."

It was England's turn to remain silent.

"Look dude, I didn't come here to interrogate you or anything, I just want a straight, _truthful_ answer." America paused for only a fraction of a second before continuing. "Does Matthew Williams exist?"

England sighed. He desperately wanted to repeat his earlier answers, but he knew the time had come. The time for the truth.

"Canada… your brother… _used_ to exist."


	10. Incomprehension

**Oh please don't kill me. I know this chapter is really short, and I've been getting people telling me to make 'em longer, but just bear with me. I'm working on making them longer, I swear. And the next chapter should be out pretty soon. So please read this and tell me what you think. We're really getting into deep stuff here. *wink wink***

**The beginning is a bit different, so let's see who can follow what's going on.**

**And the ending... yeah... I'll apologize in advance.**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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"_Come on, bro. How long are you gonna stay under that bastard's control?"_

"_B-but Al… I'm perfectly fine."_

"_Dude, you're not even your own country yet! How can you say you're happy with that?"_

"_I'm not like you, Al. I don't need a war to declare my independence."_

"_Yeah? Well, how long are you gonna take, Mattie? Forever?"_

"_Of course not. I've been planning to talk to England about independence for a while now…"_

"_Sure, bro. Whatever you say. I'll be here waiting for ya' when your 'peaceful' attempts fail."_

xxx

"_Used to exist_? What that supposed to mean?" America asked after a long moment of silence. "That doesn't answer anything."

England sighed. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Yeah?" America replied sarcastically. "Try me."

England hesitated a moment before speaking. "Alfred… listen to me… this isn't something that has a simple explanation… or a happy ending."

"I'm not looking for a happy ending, I just want the truth."

England looked America in the eyes. "The truth is that Matthew Williams does not exist… anymore."

America frowned, not liking where his thoughts were headed. "You're gonna have to give me a better explanation than that."

England exhaled sadly, closing his eyes. "Alfred… your brother is dead."


	11. Recollection

**Hey, sorry this is a bit late, I've been having a busy weekend with Turkey Day here in the cold, white north. Now, I know this may not be what you amazing people were waiting for, but we haven't heard from somebody in a while, and this person has some important things to say. **

**You guys are probably gonna go crazy with ideas after reading this, so please tell me what you all think. I love the ideas your reviews give me. :)**

**And on the note of reviews... holy mother of amazing people! Over 100 review?! Thank you so much! You guys are awesome. I never thought this kind of story would get this kind of attention. I hope my writing continues to please. *sends love to EVERYONE***

**Oh, and I'm also raising the rating on this story to T since there may be some light swearing in the next few chapters (nothing too bad guys, don't worry).**

**I own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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Canada couldn't find America.

He had woken up this morning (in the room he had at America's house, since the Canadian government hadn't really ever given him a place to live) and even before he left his bed, he just _knew_ that America was gone. It was just some odd kind of sixth sense that he and his brother seemed to share.

But this sixth sense wasn't telling Canada where America had gone. It was just telling him that America _wasn't here_.

That he wasn't in this country.

And America never went anywhere outside the United Sates without informing his brother, since the Canadian usually wanted to accompany him.

Actually, America rarely _ever_ left his country, except for the regular meetings and conferences. He was somewhat a I'm-too-lazy-to-travel kind of guy, always having other nations come and visit him instead of the other way around. And there was no meeting scheduled for the next two weeks. At least, not that Canada knew of.

For some reason, Canada found himself being plagued by that nagging anxiety he seemed to suffer from.

Something just felt off, and as Canada left America's house, his thoughts became preoccupied with his brother's recent behaviour.

America had been acting a bit strange these past couple of weeks. He was quieter than usual, and seemed oddly somber. Canada often caught the American staring at him uncertainly, as if troubled by the Canadian's presence.

And that was exactly the problem; Canada's presence, or lack thereof.

Canada wished he could have reassured his brother. He wished he could tell America that 'yes, I _am_ real'.

He wished he could find some proof of existence.

But for all that he tried, Canada could _never_ find any way to prove that he wasn't some ghostly illusion.

No one could see or hear him, except for America of course.

He could never pick anything up or move any objects; or whenever he did, no one ever noticed.

He never really got hungry or thirsty, though he wasn't sure if that was just some feature of being a nation or if something was really wrong with him.

And despite all America's claims to being colonies together, Canada couldn't remember anything before his commencement as a nation in 1867.

He had no memories of _anything_ before the day he first awoke as an independent country.

Not that he would ever tell America this. No, his brother always loved to remind Canada of the days when they would supposedly run through the fields and forests together. Free, wild, undiscovered and uncivilized.

Canada would just smile and nod and pretend to remember.

And he tried. He really did. To remember those days. But he never could.

It wasn't like there was a blank space in his mind or anything, it was just that those memories _weren't_ there. Canada had never experienced them.

Of course he would never tell America that.

But now Canada had another problem to deal with… America's whereabouts. And Canada was willing to bet the little that he owned that America had gone to see a certain blond nation.

England.

Because Canada knew that America would be looking for help, though Canada wasn't certain what _kind_ of help. And for some reason, America always seemed to go to England when he found himself in difficult situations. Except for during the Revolution, though Canada didn't remember that.

And so, putting his thoughts about existence aside, Canada decided to make his way to England's house. If America was trying to come to a conclusion about Canada's state of being, then Canada wanted to be there.

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**Yes, yes, I know. I never put any author notes here. Sorry for breaking tradition. But I just wanted to say that since you guys are so amazing with your love and feedback, I'm going to try for a double update this week. Hopefully you'll see another chapter this Thursday. So stay tuned! :)**


	12. Suspension

**Alrighty then, here's the chapter I promised. Early update, yay!**

**Hopefully you guys find this an acceptable chapter. I know not much _really_ happens here, but the little flashback should give you all a hint as to where this is going (that is, if you're familiar enough with Canadian/American history).**

**The reviews are all amazing (even the ones that just say UPDATE). I send my love to you all. You're all awesome.**

**As I've said before, rating has gone up to T, but that's just for some mild cases of swearing.**

**And I _still_ own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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_"What the hell, Al? Why would you do this to me?"_

_"Mattie, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean to-"_

_"You burned down York! You set fire to part of MY COUNTRY! To part of ME!"_

_"It was an accident, I swear! I never wanted to hurt you."_

_"Yeah? What were you thinking, then? What the fuck were you trying to do, eh?"_

_"I just... I got angry, alright?... But I never meant for THIS to happen! You just never LISTEN to me!"_

_"I never listen? What the hell does that have to do with this?" _

_"Don't you remember, Mattie? We promised we'd stay together..."_

_"Not this again, Al..."_

_"Yes, THIS. What's taking so long, Mattie? Why are you still with that English bastard? Why won't you come be independent with me?"_

_"Alfred, I told you I'd gain independence on my own... and I don't need you BURNING my country to do so."_

xxx

"Dead?" America repeated, blank-faced. "What do you mean, _dead_?"

England looked at America sadly. "I'm pretty sure you know what I mean."

America sat silently for a moment, his breathing heavier than usual. "Dude… you better not be joking with me right now…" The atmosphere in the room had turned cold.

England looked away unhappily. "Alfred… I'm completely serious. Matthew is gone. He's been dead for over two hundred years now. This is no joke. And this is why you shouldn't be able to see him. He's no longer alive."

America opened his mouth, looking ready to argue, but no words came out. He was frozen that way for a few moments before he clenched his teeth shut and frowned dejectedly. Then, in a whisper so quiet England had to strain to hear, "But I can still see him."

England felt his heart clench painfully. He'd never seen America look so distraught before. "I'm sorry, lad. I truly am. I wish it wasn't this way…"

America suddenly looked up, his gaze intense. "Explain it," he said forcefully. "Tell me what happened. I- I want to know… I need to know what happened."

"Lad…"

"No, something's wrong here." America stared England down, expression unreadable. "Why did I never _know_ about this? My brother's d-_dead_ and no one feels the need to _tell_ me! Something's definitely wrong here and you seem to be the only person who has the answers."

England blinked once, surprised at America's tenacity. He hadn't thought the American would be this persistent.

"America," England eventually said, "there's nothing more I can really tell y-"

"Oh come on. I _know_ there's more to it than that."

England sighed, he had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to explain his mistake. But America pressed on.

"God damn it Arthur, if Mattie's really d… If he's really gone…" America paused for a moment before continuing, allowing himself to take a deep breath. "Then I want to know how it happened. And why no one ever told me."

England closed his eyes in defeat. He knew his time had come.

He truly hoped that the truth wouldn't break America like it had before.


	13. Explanation

**Hey y'all. I'm back again, with another chapter. Yay.**

**So yes, this is another plot point in the story. However we are getting pretty close to the answers. Though believe me, there's still a little ways to go before a happy (or not) ending.**

**And I still absolutely love you guys. Your reviews and feedback are great, and I love that so many people seem to be interested in this. I'll keep trying to please.**

**Now midterms are coming up for me, and even though these chapters are short, I may have some trouble finding time to write them. So expect perhaps a little delay in the next few updates, but after that, I'll be good to go. :)**

**Please tell me what you think.**

**Nothing is what I own.**

**Enjoy.**

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"_This is turning into a war, isn't it?"_

"_Yeah, Al. I think it is."_

"_We can still stop it, you know. If you'd just-"_

"_No."_

"_But Mattie…"_

"_Alfred, no. I told you. You can't FORCE me to become independent. I'm going to do it by myself."_

"_I wasn't forcing you; I was just trying to help."_

"_Yeah, well, your 'help' caused this whole mess."_

"_I said I was sorry!"_

"_Sorry isn't enough to stop this, Al."_

"_I- I know, Mattie. I just wish this didn't have to happen."_

xxx

"Do you remember the War of 1812?"

America blinked, surprised. "Huh?"

"The War of 1812," England repeated with a sigh. "Try and think about it. Do you remember anything?"

America hesitated a little before replying, reading the guilt in England's eyes. "Um, yeah… I think. What does that have to do with anything?"

England pressed on, ignoring America's question. "Do you remember what it was about?" he clarified. England knew the younger nation hadn't followed the change in conversation, but he needed to ask these questions.

America opened his mouth, lips ready to form the words, but found he had nothing to say. "Uh… I..."

"Anything at all?"

"... It sounds familiar..." America finally said, frowning confusedly.

England nodded in resignation, expecting this would be the answer. "You don't remember anything, do you?"

America looked at England unhappily, thinking the British nation was making fun of him. "It's not my fault," he defended. "I just… my mind went all fuzzy or something-"

"I know."

America had opened his mouth, ready to continue defending himself, but England's words made him freeze. He gave England a confused look, mouth hanging open slightly. "Wait, what?" he asked in surprise.

"I know that you can't remember," England repeated evenly. "You don't have to explain the symptoms to me."

"_Symptoms_?" America asked incredulously after a moment's hesitation. "What are you talking about? And what the hell does this have to do with _anything_?" He paused for a moment, frowning uncertainly. "And why are you even asking me about this War of 18-something anyways?"

England sighed bitterly. "The War of 1812. You know what it is, but you can't actually remember anything about it, can you?"

America hesitated before answering, looking at England guardedly. He suddenly felt that something was wrong. "Yeah…" he replied cautiously, not really knowing if this was the right answer. "And you're saying... this is a _symptom_?"

England hesitated a moment before continuing, eyes glancing down guiltily. "Yes, well, you see lad," he began, "you _couldn't _remember. You _had_ to forget…"

"What are you…" America started to say, but England kept speaking.

"You had to forget it. You couldn't… _I_ couldn't handle it. I had to erase it. I had to make you forget."

America stayed silent for a long moment, staring at England guardedly. "What are you saying, Arthur?" he finally asked, voice quiet yet demanding.

Taking a deep breath, England looked at America, green eyes finally meeting the questioning blues. "I had to make you forget him. I had to make you forget Matthew."


	14. Aggression

**And here I am, in all my mediocre glory. Sorry about taking a while with this one, but hey, good news is that midterms are done. Yay! I should have more time to write now. So rejoice, happy times are here again.**

**But yeah, the chapters. They are getting increasingly difficult to write seeing as the plot is in full development stage. This hopefully won't slow me down too much, but just know that if it seems like updates are taking a while, it's 'cause I'm sitting here thinking "And how exactly is this going to be _explained_." Because believe me, I'm starting to realize that this project isn't as simple as I originally thought it was.**

**As always, all your reviews and love are amazing. I'm so happy that you people are still liking this story. I truly hope that it continues to please.**

**On a side note, I'm kind of running out of chapter name ideas, so if the titles start to sound a bit weird, sorry about that. (There's a naming scheme, if you haven't noticed.)**

**And here I am, still owning nothing.**

**Ok, off you go. Read to your heart's content (or until the end of the chapter, either works).**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"_What the hell, Mattie? Why would you bring HIM into this?"_

"_It wasn't my decision, eh. You know I couldn't do anything about it."_

"_That's because you're still his god damn colony."_

"_Al…"_

"_But I'm right! You know England's been looking for a reason to go at me ever since the Revol–"_

"_Al! Stop it. This isn't about YOU or England or independence. It's just a stupid war that WE have to fight, got it?"_

"_Yeah, well I don't want to fight anymore, Mattie."_

"_I know, Al. I don't want to fight either…"_

"_Then let's just declare peace and forget this stupid mess. We don't have to keep fighting. I'll help you rebuild York and Elizabethtown and Niagara–"_

"_You know that won't work."_

"_What do you mean? Of course it will. I'm the hero after all."_

"_You of all people should know that wars don't just end like that."_

"_Jeez Mattie, what's up with you? Do you not WANT this war to end?"_

"_Eh? Of course I do. But…"_

"_But what?"_

"_You got to understand, there's nothing I can do anymore. England won't let me. He wants to attack you, Al, and I can't stop him."_

xxx

America blinked. _Make_ _me_ _forget Matthew? What is England talking about?_ He looked at the British man warily, realizing that there was much more going on than he'd originally thought. "Explain," he finally demanded aggressively, hoping England wouldn't try to evade the question like before.

There was a prolonged moment of silence. At long last England took a deep breath and spoke. "Alfred, this is the last time I'm going to warn you; you're not going to like this answer. Believe me when I tell you that this is something you do not want to remember."

America frowned. He was tired of hearing the same old excuses. "I don't care," he said resolutely. "I want to know what the hell is going on."

England closed his eyes. "Lad, there's a reason I made you forget…"

"Just get to the point already."

England's eyes snapped open. "Fine," he said loudly, conceding to America's demands. "But I _did_ try and warn you."

America let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying. But dude, whatever you've been trying to hide can't be any worse than what you've already told me."

"Oh, you're going to be in for a surprise," England said bitterly, but then his expression softened. "Look, Alfred, just before I get any further, I want you to understand that none of what happened back then was your fault."

America blinked at England's words. "Ok, whatever, not my fault, I get it. Now hurry up and start _explaining_ stuff."

"I _am_ explaining it. You just have to calm down and let m-"

"You're explaining _nothing_." America cut in irately. "All I've been told so far is that I shouldn't be able to see Mattie 'cause he died in some war that _I_ don't remember and that _you_ tried to make me forget about it. What the hell is _that_ supposed to explain?"

"America, just settle down and I'll tell you w-"

"What did I ever do wrong, huh? Why can't anyone give me a straight answer?" America crossed his arms in front of his chest. "First my brother is not supposed to exist, and now he's supposed to be _dead_. This isn't making any sense."

"I'm _trying_ to explain it! Just calm-"

"Like seriously, dude, how is it possible to make me forget something like a war? Did you use your special _magic_ or something?" America leaned forward, uncrossing his arms and placing his clenched fists on the kitchen table.

"Alfred, calm down. You're getting too worked up about this!" England leaned back in his chair, putting some distance between him and the riled American.

"I just want _answers_!" he gritted out in response. "Like _why_ the hell would you try and make me forget that? Forget Matthew? What gave you permission to do something like _that_, huh?"

"It was for your own bloody good!" England insisted.

"How is _forgetting_ my own _brother_ good?"

"I did what I had to do!"

America leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in irritation. "Why, Arthur? Why the hell would you have to try and make me forget Matthew?"

England barely hesitated before answering, thoughts too caught up in arguing to think about softening the blow. "Because you're the one that killed him!"


	15. Revelation

**Man, I'm sorry this is a bit late. I feel like I got run over by life and I'm still trying to recover from the bumps and bruises (metaphorically speaking, of course). **

**But here's the next chapter. Yay. The longest one yet, if I'm not mistaken. And actually, from here on out, the chapters should be a bit longer. Which is good, yes?**

**So I had some fun with this chapter. Angst can be fun to write. Although, the format of this chapter is a bit weird, so I apologize if you find it hard to follow. Please tell me what you think. **

**Yay, flashback!**

**And I actually own less than I did last chapter. So Hetalia still isn't mine.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

_Because you're the one that killed him!_

America sat frozen in his chair, staring wide eyed at England.

_You're the one that killed him. Killed Matthew._

The words reverberated in his mind, unforgiving in their harsh reality.

_You killed him. You killed your brother. You're the reason he's gone._

England stood up, looking at America worriedly. The younger nation had gone completely silent, eyes wide as saucers. And as England watched America's pupils gradually expand to almost overtake the bright blue hues, he realized what was happening.

"Oh bloody hell, not now…"

America gave no indication of hearing him, staring straight ahead as words only he could hear echoed louder and stronger in his mind. Overwhelming all else.

_It's your fault. You hurt him. You hurt your brother. You killed him. _

And suddenly something gave way.

_You… You put a bullet through his head._

Something broke deep within the cavern of his thoughts.

_You pulled the trigger. You shot him in the head. You watched him fall. And everything was burning. Why was everything burning?_

And even as England rushed around the kitchen table, yelling something America couldn't hear while frantically grabbing the younger nation's shoulder, America's mind was flooded with disconnected images and sounds. Scenes from a battlefield. Visions of a large, burning building. Feelings of sharp, excruciating agony.

And at the heart of the overpowering memories was one person.

Matthew.

_The White House was burning._

America gasped, clutching his chest in pain as memories from long ago played behind his eyes.

_The White House was burning and THEY were standing there, right in front of America, feeding the flames. Building the fire. Making the pain worse._

_Making it unbearable._

England had stopped yelling at him. He now stood only a step away, hand tightly clenching America's shoulder, staring at the young nation with distressed eyes. Sympathy and remorse were written clear across his face.

He could only watch helplessly as America doubled over, hands coming up to hold his head as images only he could see flashed before his eyes.

The visions faded as quickly as they appeared, one after the other, scene after incomprehensible scene.

But then, suddenly, one memory appeared more vividly than the rest.

_Canada and England, standing in front of the White House, flames dancing perilously behind them._

_And England, holding the torch that started the fire, standing tall, looking at America blankly. Face devoid of all expression except trivial regret._

"_You had this coming to you, lad. You have no one to blame but yourself."_

And America could remember how he yelled. How his voice came out ragged and miserable and accusing. How much he _hated_ England in that one moment.

"_How could you! This wasn't your fight!" _

_The fire spread, consuming the interior of the building. America's body was engulfed in pain; his mind overwhelmed by betrayal._

Seized by the memory, America screamed.

"_I expected this from YOU!" _he remembered yelling at England, holding a gun tightly in his charred hands._ "But how could you turn my own brother against me?"_

_Canada stood next to England, eyes full with guilt and distress. He had taken a step forward at America's accusation of betrayal, but had gone no further._

"_I'm sorry, Al. I… I didn't think… I didn't want this… but I had to."_

The pain had clouded America's mind. He hadn't thought, he had just moved, not considering the outcomes of his actions. He remembered with agonising clarity how he had raised the gun, shakily pointing it at the cause of his pain and misery.

England.

"_I'm gonna make you pay, you bastard. Give me back my brother!"_

And then he had just yelled, pulling the trigger without a second thought, almost relishing in the startled expression that overtook England's features.

But he hadn't counted on Matthew's natural tendency for peace and protection.

_The bullet left the gun in a burst of gunpowder, the recoil making America's arm jerk to upwards._

"No…" America muttered, realizing what was going to happen. He closed his eyes in vain, not wanting to see what happened next.

But the whole scene played out as if in slow motion.

"_NO!" he had yelled, much too late._

Canada had moved.

"_No, God no!" _

Not away, but towards the bullet.

"_Matthew! No, god, please NO!"_

Directly in front of England and the line of fire.

_America surged forward, closing the distance between him and his falling brother in the span of a second. The agonising pain in his chest eclipsed by the cold, dark shadow of horror._

America could feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, wishing that the memory would just stop. He didn't want to see what happened. He didn't want to see his brother lying motionless among the smoke and flames.

"Make it stop…" he mumbled quietly, staring sightlessly ahead. He could feel England's hand tighten on his shoulder.

_He stumbled to his knees beside the fallen form of his brother. Next to him, England dropped to the ground, eyes wide and expression horrified. _

"I… I can't, lad." America could hear England whisper softly, voice filled with regret and guilt. "You just have to let it play out."

_America's hands reached forward, gently brushing Canada's hair away from his face. As the dirty blond strands fell away, America felt his body begin to shake._

_There, almost precisely centered in his brother's forehead, was a tiny, perfect circle. A single line of blood trailed off into the hairline, staining the surrounding blond a deep red._

_And Matthew's pastel purple eyes stared blindly at the sky. No longer seeing. _

_No longer living._

"No…" America whispered brokenly, the harrowing image burning into his mind.

And even as he wished with his entire being that it wasn't true, America knew deep down that it was. He couldn't deny it, the reality was impossible to escape.

Gradually, America realized that the memory had ended. He was no longer staring at the lifeless face of his brother, but instead was looking at the floor of England's kitchen. The images and sounds had faded away leaving America feeling hollow and dejected.

"Alfred, I… I'm sorry," England murmured quietly. "I didn't think this would happen. I never wanted you to see that again."

America found himself laughing dispiritedly, eyes still trained on the ground. "That makes two of us," he said disjointedly, finally letting go of his head and looking up.

And standing directly in front of him, blocking England from his view, was a very worried looking Canadian.


	16. Aversion

**Late? Me? Psh, naw man, I'm never late. I post chapters exactly when I planned to post them. Heh... yup...**

**... who am I kidding. I'm late, aren't I? I'm sorry, really. I had a bout of writer's block mixed in with school projects and finals. It was a recipe for destruction. So yes, I'm sorry. But I'm here now. So hopefully you people are still with me.**

**This was a bit of a tough chapter to write. I actually had my awesome sister chocolateCake27 help out with bits of it, so the writing style may vary at points. But it's good, I believe. Let me know you all think. And then perhaps even go read my sister's stuff and tell her what you think about it too.**

**Anyways, thank you so much for all the love. The reviews continue to amaze me, and every favorite and follow are like little gifts of awesomeness. I hope that this story continues to please.**

**I'm owning less and less each day, so Hetalia can't possible be among that dwindling list.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Canada knew something was wrong the moment he arrived in front of England's house.

It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with the building itself, or anything strange with the surrounding area. That was all perfectly fine. It was just that the instant Canada stepped before the large, Victorian-style mansion, he was struck by an overwhelming sense of dread.

Something was wrong. And Canada was almost certain it had to do with America.

Ignoring the little voice inside his head that told him to wait patiently outside, Canada approached the large, white-washed wooden door.

_I'm not going to knock,_ he silently told himself, trying to move past his engrained habits. _I'm just going to walk right in. It's not like anyone would notice me, anyway._ He reached forward, grabbing the handle in a hesitant grip. _You can do this, Matthew. You just have to open the door and walk in._

Canada was greatly relieved to find that the door was unlocked. _At least that's one less issue to solve, eh. Don't know what I would have done if it had been locked. Run away?_

Canada's lips pressed together in a cynical grimace. _Actually yes, I probably would have run away. Why am I so pathetic?_

Trying to leave those thoughts behind, Canada pushed past the door and moved into England's house. Immediately the creeping sense of dread returned in full force, striking Canada motionless. _Oh, something is definitely wrong here, isn't it?_

He took a deep breath, trying to control his apprehension.

Suddenly a ragged scream tore through the house. And even through the voice's pitched distortion, Canada could make out who it belonged to.

_Alfred._

Before his mind even processed this realization, Canada was running. Running towards his brother because Alfred was screaming and Alfred _never_ screamed.

Canada turned sharply down the hall, heading in the direction that seemed the most plausible. America's voice had since died away, and so Canada was left to navigate the hallways in an echoing silence.

Despite all America's claims to how the two of them used to run together through this same house, Canada had no recollection of any of these hallways. He felt blind and more than a little lost. But he kept running. Canada wasn't going to let some inconveniently places walls stop him from finding his brother.

Only a few moments after hearing the scream, Canada burst through an open doorway into the kitchen.

And there, sitting in a chair off to the left, was America. He had his head in his hands, staring wide eyed at the ground, completely silent and unmoving.

He hadn't so much as blinked at Canada's abrupt entrance.

"Alfred!" Canada exclaimed, rushing towards his brother. He noticed England standing close by, but decided to focus on more pressing matters. "Al, what's going on? What's wrong?"

America remained completely motionless, showing no indication whatsoever that he had heard Canada's panicked questions. Beside the two North American nations, England hovered anxiously, one hand resting on America's shoulder.

Canada turned to ask the Englishman what was wrong, but quickly realized it would be useless. Even in this situation, Canada was cursed to remain invisible.

Turning back around to face his brother, Canada was about to reach out and try to shake him from his stupor when he heard America mumble something.

"No…"

It was only a single word, but it contained so much pain and desperation. Canada felt numb with helplessness. He didn't know what to do. America seemed so distraught, but Canada didn't even know what was wrong.

Beside him, England stiffened. Canada spared him a quick glance and saw that England's green eyes radiated guilt. Frowning disconcertedly, Canada looked back at his brother. America continued to sit motionlessly, eyes having closed in some futile attempt to stop whatever was happening to him.

"Make it stop…" America's voice was hollow and dejected.

_Make it stop…? _Canada thought, his eyes studying his brother worriedly.

"Make what stop, Al?" he asked, hoping the sound of his voice would somehow be able to reach Alfred through whatever trance he was currently in.

To Canada's despair, America made no sign of having heard him. Canada frowned dispiritedly, anxiety starting to overtake him. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to continue talking, but before he could get a word out, Canada was cut off by another voice.

"I… I can't, lad." England spoke softly, his voice sad and regretful. "You just have to let it play out."

Canada froze, brow furrowing slightly. What was this? Let what play out? Was Arthur hurting him or something?

"No…" Alfred whispered again, eyes still closed and his face deathly pale.

A heavy silence settled in over the room's occupants following America's last statement. For a long moment, nothing happened. Canada hovered tentatively over his brother, wanting to help but unsure of what he should do.

Was there really anything he _could_ do? Canada felt burdened by helplessness.

Before long, England spoke again. "Alfred, I… I'm sorry. I didn't think this would happen. I never wanted you to see that again."

_See? See what? _Once again, Canada found himself feeling completely in the dark.

America let out a humourless, deflated chuckle, finally letting go of his head and tearing his eyes away from the ground. "That makes two of us."

He looked up, his ragged gaze locking onto the figure standing directly in front of him.

Locking onto Matthew.

Canada was not prepared for the reaction his appearance caused. America's eyes widened in shock, breath catching in his throat as he visibly jerked back from the Canadian. His face had turned deathly pale in a matter of seconds, the blue of his eyes standing out in stark contrast behind his slightly askew glasses.

America looked like he had seen a ghost.

Canada leaned back slightly, giving the startled American some space. "H-hey Al, is everything ok?" he asked hesitantly, looking at America worriedly.

America remained perfectly silent, breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes quickly flickered over to England before settling back on the Canadian in front of him.

Canada pressed on with the questions.

"What's going on? What happened just then? Are you alright?" He knew he was bombarding America with demands, but Canada was feeling more than a little lost and just wanted to make sure his brother was unharmed.

But America wasn't looking too good. In fact, he pressed himself even further away from his brother, leaning as far back in his chair as he possibly could.

England, who had remained silent up until this point, took a step back and removed his hand from America's shoulder. He gave the younger nation a remorseful, if slightly concerned look. "Will you be alright, lad? I know that must have been horrible to watch… I truly am sorry for what happened. I hope you understand that."

England still remained completely oblivious to Canada's presence.

America gave England another quick glance, acknowledging that he had heard him, but made no move to reply to the older nation's statements. Instead he returned his gaze to Canada, continuing to watch him with wary, almost frightened eyes.

Frowning disconcertedly, Canada stepped back from the chair, deciding to give America a few moments and a little more space before he continued with the questions.

America's eyes tracked his movements, following Canada with rapt attentions. And suddenly Canada realized that _he_ was the one that was making America uncomfortable. That for some reason Canada's presence was leading to America's frightened and worrisome behaviour.

"What have you been looking at, lad?"

America finally tore his gaze away from his concerned brother, looking at England with wide, troubled eyes. England had crouched down slightly, studying America's face with a worried expression. "You're not relapsing into the memory, are you? Is everything alright?"

Canada blinked a few times in confusion, watching the interaction between the pair in front of him. _Relapse? Memory? What is he talking about?_

America finally managed to shake himself from his stupor, eyes flickering briefly back to Canada before returning to England with a look of distress. "How can he… what's going on?"

England frowned. "Nothing's going on. Are you sure you're-" he paused mid-sentence, eyes widening as he was hit with some kind of revelation. "Bloody hell, you… you're still seeing him."

Canada shuffled his feet nervously, realizing that he's become the subject of conversation. Looking anxiously between the two nations, he decided to speak up, knowing only America would hear him.

"I c-can leave if you want me to. I didn't mean to- I just wanted to make sure you were ok, Al."

America's eyes softened, his rigid posture showing signs of relaxing. Turning his eyes towards Matthew, he opened his mouth to speak. But before he could get out a word, England stepped forward, looking around the room with wandering eyes. "You can still see him," he repeated evenly. "You can see him right now, can't you?"

Canada jumped slightly when England's gaze landed almost directly on him. The green eyes were only off by a little amount, staring somewhere above the Canadian's shoulder instead of at his face, but it was still the closest anyone other than America had come to actually _looking_ at him. The gaze hovered there for a moment longer, eyes not quite focused properly to be looking at the startled Canadian. Just before England looked away, America finally spoke, voice hoarse and uneven.

"Yeah I can still him. Mattie's standing right in front of you."


	17. Hesitation

**Hey everyone, here I am again with yet another chapter. Rejoice... or something.**

**However, I would say that this is probably my least favorite chapter thus far. Not that it's going to suck or anything, just that it feels a little off to me. I don't know... let me know what you guys think, ok?**

**I also hope that the ending is clear enough. If you're confused please tell me, 'cause I want to make sure everyone knows what's going on.**

**On another note, you guys still continue to amaze. To everyone who's reviewed, followed, and favorited this story, I thank you _so much_. You have no idea how happy it makes me. I hope that I can keep up with your high expectations.**

**Ok then, off you go. **

**Soy dueño de nada (I own nothing... in _Spanish_, 'cause why not).**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

America hadn't been prepared for the situation that assaulted him when he was finally released from that horrific memory. The memory itself had been agonizing, and then the few moments after, when he had been struck with the realization that he may never see Matthew again, that he might never have the chance to apologize, had been excruciating.

Then he had looked up to see his brother standing right in front of him. Looking as solid and alive as he always had, watching him with that seemingly perpetual look of worry.

America had been stunned, momentarily frozen under the scrutiny of those lavender eyes.

He didn't know what he had been expecting; some kind of enlightenment maybe? A deeper understanding into the mystery that was life and death? An acceptance that Canada should have long ago disappeared, that there was no possible way that he could be standing right here, looking perfectly healthy?

No, what hit America instead was the realization that his brother was most likely a ghost.

America was perhaps just a little bit terrified of ghosts.

And as Canada persisted with his concerned questions and England started apologizing for various things, America found himself gripped with some kind of irrational fear. He felt like he couldn't move, like everything around him was happening too fast and too unexpectedly. America tried to take a few deep breaths, desperately trying to shake off the chains of paranoia that seemed to hold his body in place. It was as if his mind was shutting down, overwhelmed by this paralyzing panic.

Suddenly, America realized that England had crouched down so that they were face to face. America blinked in surprise, finally becoming aware of the older nation's worry.

"You're not relapsing into the memory, are you?" England asked with a slight frown. "Is everything alright?"

_No_, America thought, _everything is NOT alright. Mattie's a ghost and he might start doing ghostly things and there's no way I can fight back because he's a GHOST._

America's eyes unintentionally flickered over to his brother, who was standing meekly a few feet off to his left, looking entirely unghost-like.

America wasn't convinced. Turning back to England, he started to ask "How can he…", before realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say, and so settled with a general, "What's going on?"

England gave him an odd look. "Nothing's going on. Are you sure you're…" England's eyes widened, and America realized that up to this point, the older nation hadn't been aware of the Canadian's presence.

"Bloody hell, you… you're still seeing him."

Off to the side, Canada shuffled his feet awkwardly as he mumbled some useless stuff about leaving.

Listening to his brother's soft-spoken words, America felt himself relax slightly. Ghost or no ghost, Canada was still an insecure pushover. _Heh, that's my bro in a nutshell, isn't it? A shy maple-loving pushover._

And now that he thought about it, America felt slightly foolish about his reaction to Canada's state of existence. Canada couldn't hurt him; Canada couldn't even hurt a fly. It didn't matter whether he was alive or dead or somewhere in between.

America opened his mouth to speak, turning so that he was facing his brother, but England started talking before he got the chance.

"You can still see him." England was now standing up straight, looking around the room with a searching eye. "You can see him right now, can't you?" He was talking about Matthew.

And then England's wandering gaze settled almost directly on the startled Canadian. If America hadn't known any better, he'd say that England could actually _see_ Matthew.

Deciding it was finally time to take back control of the situation, America sat up a little straighter and forced himself to look at Canada without flinching. "Yeah I can still him," he said, swallowing back his rising discomfort. He shifted his gaze to England. "Mattie's standing right in front of you."

England's gaze hovered over the empty space in front of him for a few moments, eyes flicking left and right as they surveyed the area. He frowned disconcertedly. "Lad, there's no one there."

America closed his eyes. "Dude, why can't you just believe me? I swear I'm not crazy." Exhaling heavily through his nose, he continued talking in a softer, almost desperate tone. "Mattie's _real_, god damnit."

From behind the closed lids of his eyes, America could distinguish a shadow moving closer to him. A soft sigh was heard before he felt a hand land gently on his shoulder.

"Alfred, listen to me." England's voice was firm. "You saw what happened. You know that–"

"No," he cut England off, trying to put as much determination as he could into that one word. America opened his eyes. "No," he repeated resolutely. "I know what I saw, but that doesn't mean that Mattie's not real." He looked past England to his brother, who had remained silent throughout this entire exchange.

Canada still stood hesitantly off to the side, watching the scene in front of him with a vaguely worried and apologetic expression. "It-it's fine, Al. I don't want to cause an argument." The Canadian lowered his gaze self-consciously. "It's just… you were kind of freaking me out there, but… it's all ok now, right? I can leave, if that'll make things better…"

America stood up, purposely brushing off England's hand from his shoulder. "No, don't leave." He took a couple steps in Canada's direction, the fear from before muted and the harshness of the memory already faded. "We're gonna figure this out. I don't care what England says, ok?"

Behind him, America could hear England sigh.

Canada shuffled his feet awkwardly, but there was a slight smile on his face. "Heh, thanks Al." Then he looked past America at England, who had turned around to watch the seemingly one-sided exchange. "But, you know, I really do think you are worrying England."

America glanced at England, who was watching him with a disheartened expression. The younger nation frowned. "Dude, don't give me that look. I'm not crazy," he said, directing his words to the skeptical Englishman.

England sighed, shaking his head slightly. "From the way you're acting, people would think otherwise."

"I don't care what people think." America took a few steps to his right so that he could see both England and Canada without having to turn his head. "Just 'cause I watched my brother die doesn't mean I'm gonna suddenly deny his existence."

Oblivious to Canada's wide eyes and palling complexion, America continued with his spiel, directing his words to England.

"Mattie exists. I don't care if that means he's a ghost or something. He's real, got it?"

The resolute silence that followed America's claims was shattered moments later by a quiet, distressed voice.

"I… I'm a _ghost_?"


	18. Determination

**Hey guys, merry Christmas or happy holidays or joyous no-school-time, whatever one fits you best. I'm here again, obviously, having struggled to get this ready for today (or should I say tonight). I'm sorry about the inconsistency in updates, but I actually got hit with major real life issues last week in terms of the death of a pet, and well, that kinda put me off writing for a little while. But I'm here now, and I'm mostly feeling better, so rejoice.**

**I hope everyone is having a nice holiday break. You all deserve it for being the awesome people you are.**

**I continue to be amazed at the response this story is getting. *looks at reviews* Almost 200?! Wow guys, you have no idea how much this means to me. I send my love to you all, and as a gift/resolution thing, I'll do my utmost best to reply to the reviews I get. I hope this fic continues to please.  
**

**I still own nothing, since I already ate all the Christmas chocolate I received. Too bad.**

**Now off you go. Read. Enjoy.**

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"I… I'm a _ghost_?"

Canada's voice rose in pitch, breaking slightly on the last word. America had turned upon hearing Canada's distressed question, looking as his brother with confused blue eyes.

"Yeah," he replied straight-faced, watching Canada's trembling frame with growing concern. "Of course you're a ghost, bro, what else could you be?"

Canada let out a small, shaky laugh. "Oh, right… of course." His voice died slightly near the end of the sentence, his face still unusually pale as he looked down at his hands, flexing and spreading the fingers numbly.

Alfred watched his brother with slight curiosity for a few seconds, still ignoring England who sighed exasperatingly at the seemingly one-sided conversation occurring before him. Paying little mind to the older nation's presence, America was struck with an idea; a notion that he hadn't thought of before.

As per usual, America voiced his thoughts without even pausing to think them through first.

"You know, Mattie, you should really have told me about all this before."

Canada looked up at the words, hands dropping limply back down to his sides. "What?" he asked weakly, voice oddly pitched.

America frowned slightly at his brother's behaviour, but continued on regardless. "I mean, if you had just _told _me you were a ghost, this whole thing probably would have been a lot simpler."

The corners of Canada's mouth twitched upwards, almost as if trying for a smile, but didn't quite make it all the way. "Heh," he breathed, lifting one of the hands he had just been staring at so intensely to run it through his hair. "You don't say?"

America titled his head slightly in naïve perplexity. "What are you talking about, bro?"

England threw his hands in the air, having long since given up trying to get America to stop talking to what very much appeared to be thin air. "Yes, do tell. What _is _he talking about?" he said to no one in particular, the words practically dripping with sarcasm.

America shushed him with a dismissing wave, not even bothering to look away from his brother, who continued to stand uncomfortably in the center of the kitchen, staring down at his feet blankly.

America may have been a lost cause when it came to reading the atmosphere, but he would have had to been blind to not realize something was wrong here. "Uh, Mattie? You okay?" he asked, taking a hesitant step in the direction of the other.

"Oh, yeah… just _fine,_" Canada muttered unconvincingly. "It's just, you know…" he trailed off, taking a deep breath. "It's just not every day that you find out you're dead." The words sounded strained and unnatural, almost as if it had pained him to speak them out loud.

America's brow furrowed in confusion before realization struck, causing his eyes to widen considerably. "You… You didn't know?"

Matthew swallowed, shuffling his feet stiffly before finally raising his violet gaze. "Well…" he said matter-of-factly, breathing slightly strained. "I do now."

Alfred gave an awkwardly laugh, though his eyes remained serious. "I'm sorry. I suppose I could have broken the news to you a little more gently," he admitted, trying to lighten the mood.

Behind them, England grunted in irritation. "You know what, I give up. I'm _obviously_ overstaying my welcome here. I'll just return to my home– oh _wait_…"

Canada's strained smile turned into something a little more real. "Heh, it's alright Al," he said with an accepting sigh. "And I'm ok, really. It was just a bit of a shock, you know?" Canada then glanced past America, who seemed a fairly relieved at Canada's understanding behaviour, and focused on an aggravated-looking Englishman. "Also, I think you should probably stop ignoring England, eh? He looks like he's gonna curse you or something." Canada returned his gaze to America and gave him slight smirk.

America blinked a couple of times, surprised at the change of conversation. "Huh?" he uttered, turning his head to look at England, raising his eyebrows at the look of infuriated annoyance marring the older nation's face. "Dude, what's wrong with _you_?"

"What's wrong with me?" England repeated tersely. "You're asking what's bloody wrong with me? I've spent the last ten minutes trying to get your attention but oh no, apparently you'd much rather chat with that _lovely_ bit of empty space than pay me any mind." England took a deep breath, holding the air in for a moment before releasing it in a harsh huff of irritation. "You can be a bloody nuisance sometimes."

America ignored Canada's airy chuckle. "Not cool, dude. I was having a heart-to-heart with my bro. Cranky old men take a backseat in those kinds of situations."

England closed his eyes in exasperation. "I regret ever discovering you."

"Harsh, man." America frowned. "But seriously now, we gotta help Mattie out. He can't stay like this forever, right?"

Off to the side, Canada started protesting. "Al, it's fine, really I don't need-"

"Matthew is _dead_." England spoke over the Canadian, unaware of the northern nation's words. "That is somewhat of a _forever_ thing."

"But come on Artie, you gotta know of some way to fix it. Just use your magic or something. You have to at least make it better." America almost pleaded with the apathetic nation, thinking of his brother's sure-to-be miserable existence.

England sighed. "Even if I _did_ believe that Canada still existed, how do you suppose we _fix_ his situation? Death isn't something that can just be cured." England then blinked, wary of the new light in the American's eyes. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

"What if I can make you believe?" he said, waving off Canada's new stream of complaints. "If I can get you some proof of existence, will you help me fix this whole mess?"

England looked at America blankly. "You want to prove to me that your brother still exists?"

"Yes."

After a few more moments of silence, in which America refused to let his intense stare waver, England finally rolled his eyes in defeat. "You know what, fine. Go ahead, Alfred. Make me believe. Show me that you're not actually off your bloody rocker." His tired gaze swept the room, passing over Canada without notice before returning to the silent American. "Get me that proof of existence, and I'll bloody well find some way to help you and your brother."

And Canada, despite the shock and denial of the past couple of hours, felt perhaps for the first time in recent memory the faint stirrings of hope.


	19. Recognition

**Happy New Year's guys! We made it to 2013! It find it hard to believe (no, seriously, it even feels weird to write 2013) but here we are. A new year. Let's make it a good one.**

**Especially since Hetalia season 5 is starting in less then a month! *flails***

**So the celebrate the new year, here's a chapter. I feel pretty confident with this one, but if it confuses anyone let me know. I want to make sure everything is as clear as possible.**

**The explain-y bit of the story is coming up soon... so I suppose I should start deciding where exactly I plan to go with this fic. (Truth be told, I myself don't even have a solution to this story... heh *awkward laugh*... I'll figure it out.)**

**And wow... you guys smashed that 200 review barrier. I'm amazed. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. You guys make my life... you seriously do. Continue to be awesome.**

**Ich besitze nichts (I own nothing in German).**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

England still wasn't quite sure what had made him give in to America's foolish request.

_If I can get you some proof of existence, will you help me fix this whole mess?_

It was preposterous; America thinking that England could _fix_ something such as death.

Yet somehow England had found himself agreeing; making claims to solutions that he had no inkling on how to solve. And America had taken England's promise at face-value, no questions asked. The younger nation was now running around his house, conversing excitedly with the empty space around him while pointing to various objects and items. England caught a few words here and there, and from the gist of the situation he could see that America was trying to get the still-nonexistent Canada to move something.

"Come on man, it's just a lamp. All you have to do is like, levitate it or something."

Sighing, England continued to watch the younger nation wave his arms about in arbitrary demonstration of ghostly powers. As far as England could tell, this was going nowhere fast. And so, turning promptly on his heel, the Englishman headed back towards the kitchen with the intention of fixing himself a new pot of tea.

Entering the kitchen area, England found his thoughts returning to his current situation. He knew he was placing himself in a rather precarious position. If America did indeed manage to find this so-called proof of existence, then England was expected to have some sort of remedy to Canada's current lack-of-being. That in itself would require a miracle. There was no cure for death.

Though perhaps if Canada wasn't quite _dead_…

But no, it was too early for those kinds of thoughts. England had yet to be even convinced that Canada wasn't just some figment of America's traumatized mind.

Frowning slightly, England turned back to look through the doorway. He could hear America's voice drifting down the hall, the words mostly indistinguishable by the time they reached England's ears.

Yes, if America managed to succeed in proving Canada's existence, then England would have a problem. However, if he were to fail - if America couldn't produce the slightest bit of evidence - then England would once again be faced with the fact that his former colony was in all likelihood completely insane.

And then the entire world would have a problem.

Walking back towards the kitchen entrance, England couldn't help thinking that he'd made a mistake in showing America the truth of Canada's passing. Instead of liberating the younger nation from his delusions, it seemed like the truth was pushing America even further into madness.

England paused beneath the doorway, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly just as an eager voice called from down the hallway.

"Dude, check it! Artie, where are you, bro? He's doing it!"

"Doing what?" England called back, although he truthfully had little to no desire to find out the answer.

"Just come and look!" America demanded loudly.

England sighed, giving in. He stepped back through the doorway, peering down the length of the hall…

… only to see a vaguely triangular form suddenly disappear from America's side.

England blinked once, making a small hum of confusion. He thought he might have just seen something, but that space was now completely empty. England blinked a few more times.

Nothing.

Letting his eyes wander around the space the American occupied, England concluded that there wasn't anything strange to be seen. It was just America standing there looking all proud and self-important next to a little side-table.

"What?" England asked blankly, raining an eyebrow at the American's delighted expression.

America's smile faltered. "Seriously dude? Doesn't it look like it's floating or something?" He gestured to the space beside him. "Mattie's holding it right here."

England stepped out into the hallway, giving the younger nation an annoyed look. "Holding what?"

The wobbly smile turned into a frown. "You're telling me you seriously can't see it?"

England shrugged, feeling perhaps just a little guilty at America's defeated appearance. "Lad, I don't even know what you're talking about."

"What the hell, man?" America exclaimed, letting the arms he had been holding out in enthusiasm fall to his side dejectedly. For a few moments he just stood there, looking at England as if he hoped the older nation would suddenly change his mind. Then, without warning, he turned to look at the empty space. "Hey Mattie, wait. Don't put it down yet, maybe it'll just take- Dude, I don't care if it's heavy, you gotta work with me here!"

As England watched America argue with what appeared to be an empty side-table, the older nation was unexpectedly struck with a realization.

"Alfred, where the bloody hell did you put my lamp?"

America turned to him restlessly. "That's what I'm trying to show you, Artie." He waved his hand exasperatedly in the table's general direction. "Mattie's been standing right over there by that desk-thing holding your stupid lamp for like, the past five minutes." The American then twisted around, looking as if something had caught his attention. "Bro! I said not to put it down. It wasn't that- You're a country, man, lamps shouldn't be heavy!"

England sighed, watching the scene before him with mild interest. "Lad, I really think you should-"

The rest of England's words got caught in his throat, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The lamp.

It was back.

It materialized in a rather precariously position on the side-table, looking for all its worth like someone had just dropped there in disgust. England stood there in disbelief, gaze locked on to the newly appeared item.

America seemed to catch on to England's surprise immediately, and without another word to the older nation, he turned to his left, suddenly looking exceedingly serious.

"Matthew, pick up the lamp again." It was a command, not a request, and the quiet way in which he spoke bode no argument.

There was single moment of silence. And then, as if someone was indeed holding it around its base, the lamp rose into the air. England watched it with rapt attention, mouth opening slightly almost to as if speak, but he remained silent. His gaze flickered briefly over to the American, who was watching him with an intent expression.

And England knew he had been wrong.

As though to punctuate just how wrong England was, the floating lamp disappeared. Swallowing heavily, England closed his eyes in acceptance.

Matthew Williams exists.


	20. Confession

**Hmmm, so I'm not quite sure I'm happy with this chapter, but it hits all the points that it needed to accomplish. So there's that. Hopefully it will make sense to all you wonderful people. Also this is the last chapter before I'm back to University, so updates may be a little slower than usual.**

***looks up at chapters* holy cow, would you look at that, we're at chapter 20. When did that happen. Have I actually written all that? O.O And you people continue to amaze me with your wonderful support and amazing reviews. Thank you so much for sticking with this for so long. I send you all my love.**

**And on subject of the reviews, the response for the last chapter was stunning. Almost 30 reviews... for only ONE chapter. Thank you so so so very much. I'm seriously humbled by you people.**

**Okay, one last thing. The awesome chocolateCake27 has again helped me out with bits of this chapter, and for that I'm grateful. She's a wonderful sister and helper and yeah, shout out to her.**

**У меня ничего не (I own nothing, in Russian).**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Looking around the spacious study in vague interest, Canada decided that the current situation could be considered rather strange. That is, if being dead wasn't strange enough.

"So he's sitting right there, on that chair?"

_Because really_, Canada found himself thinking, _it's not every day that you find out you're a ghost._

"Dude, for the last time, _yes_. Now will you stop staring at Mattie's arm and start workin' with me here?"

Apparently England was also having some difficulty coming to terms with it.

"His arm, really? I was certain I was looking at his face," England frowned and leaned back in his chair, glancing at the unimpressed American. "Don't look at me like that. This is still a bloody difficult thing for me to accept, alright?"

Canada felt his lips twitch into a small smile as America gave the obstinate Englishman an exasperated expression.

"Seriously, man? You've spent the last twenty minutes getting Mattie to lift random shit in your house and you're telling me you're still not sure he exists?"

The Canadian grimaced slightly as he remembered the process he had been forced to go through. As soon as the older nation had understood what was going on, Canada had been immediately put to the task of lifting objects around the house to prove that the lamp's disappearance and sequential reappearance had not just been some trick of the light. It had been a tiring activity, and it seemed like forever before England was satisfied.

Yet as Canada looked down at his sore hands, he found himself feeling pleased that he had finally been able to _do something_ to help support his existence.

Looking back up, Canada saw England frown. "No, no," the Englishman said, denying America's accusations. "No need to get so uptight. It's not that I still don't think he exists, it's just that I'm having some trouble grasping the concept."

"Well you'd better start graspin' it," America replied straight-faced. "Because you promised you'd help us."

Canada noticed the stiffness in England's jaw. The older nation was now staring vaguely in the Canadian's direction, eyes not managing to focus on anything other than the wooden back of the chair. _It's unnerving_, Canada thought,_ being looked at without actually being seen_._ It's different than just being unnoticed._

"You see," England began almost hesitantly, eyes straying back over to the impatient American. "This isn't going to be as simple as you think."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said!" England cut in somewhat loudly, leaning forwards from his position on the couch. "But I haven't got a bloody clue where I'm going to start."

Canada jumped slightly at the stressful exclamation, and from the corner of his eye he could see America sit back in surprise. Neither of them had expected the sudden outburst from the obviously pressured Englishman.

A moment of tense silence passed between the room's occupants before the British nation dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry lad. I didn't mean to- I just… need some time to think about this."

To Canada's surprise, America raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "No dude, I understand. I-I wasn't thinking; pushing this all on you." There was a brief pause before America continued. "This… this has never happened before, has it?"

The corners of Canada's mouth pulled downward, the northern nation already suspecting the answer to that question.

"No," England replied in a harsh exhalation of air, but with less frustration than before. "Typically when someone _dies_, they tend to stay that way."

Surprisingly, America seemed to consider this for a moment, brows furrowed in thought before he spoke up again. "I know this isn't really connected, but what about Prussia?"

"That's different," England sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Prussia never died. He just lost the land he was supposed to be representing. Matthew-" he tried for another glance in the Canadian's general direction, "-on the other hand, lost his actual life."

Canada noticed the guilt that darted in the corners of America's expression. It seemed to the Canadian that his brother was perceptibly pushing away some reproaching emotions, hiding them in the far recesses of his mind until he deemed it an appropriate time for self-reflection.

"But his land stayed the same, didn't it?" the American questioned after a brief moment of silence.

"Exactly," England agreed, ignoring America's apparent inner struggle. "In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Canada's land was the only reason he came back. A country as powerful as his should not be void of a representative."

"Not to mention the place is frickin' _huge_."

"Right," England said with a slight distaste for the American's choice of words.

Canada, feeling like it was time to speak up, tugged lightly on the sleeve of his brother's shirt.

At the gentle pull, America quickly turned and faced the other, giving the Canadian his full attention. "Yeah? What is it, bro?"

"Um," Canada shifted slightly in his chair. "While it's nice to know that I came back and all, this still doesn't really explain how I died." Although he felt awkward asking this question, Canada had still not be told exactly how he had come to be a ghost.

America blinked several times. "You, ah, you got shot… in the head… by me," he explained somewhat awkwardly, still not fully understanding his brother's confusion.

Canada opened his mouth uncertainly before the words sank in and he promptly shut it again. He was silent for a long moment, blinking several times.

In this time, America came to a realization of his own. "Oh, right… you didn't know you were dead…" he said slowly, eyes widening as the thoughts darted in his mind. "Which probably means you don't remember dying… or how you died, do you?"

Canada lowered his gaze, voice soft. "No… I don't remember anything." Truth be told, although he was somewhat shocked by the nature of his death, Canada also was struck once again with the fact that he had no memory of his supposed childhood.

"Actually," England cut in from where he sat, going off of America's side of the conversation. "It wouldn't be that strange if the lad didn't remember the hours leading up to his death. Mental or physical trauma can often lead to memory lapses. Dying – I'm sure – qualifies as both, so it actually would make sense if Matthew didn't remember his own death."

"No," Canada repeated, voice slightly strained. "I mean I really don't remember _anything._" He had kept the secret from America for long enough. If today was a day of revealed truths, then Canada felt like he should finally let America know that their shared memories of before nationhood were never ones that Canada remembered.

America blinked once before tilting his head slightly to the side, studying his brother carefully. "Define _anything_."

Canada lowered his gaze, letting his unkempt bangs cover his face as he struggled to find the words that he needed to explain.

England, for his part, remained silent.

The Canadian's faint voice started off timid and hesitant, words jumbling together as if unsure of their place . "Al… I don't… no, I never _have_ remembered _anything._ Anything before I woke up that is. And the first thing I _do_ remember – waking up – was the day I became a country."

America let the words wash over him, their implication quickly becoming clear. "You… you don't remember being a colony – that's what you're trying to say?"

Canada swallowed thickly, hating the truth of what he had to say. He knew that America treasured the times when they were colonies together. His brother always spoke so fondly of those memories, the excited tone in his voice unmistakable when he brought up their shared childhood. And so Canada had hid the truth from his brother. He never revealed that he had no memories of those times; that America was alone in his recollections of the past. "I don't remember," he answered heavily. "I'm sorry Al, I just don't."

"What is he saying?" England interjected, feeling that the silence had gone on long enough for the Canadian to have spoken. "He has no memory?"

America stared at his brother for a moment longer before turning to face the Englishman. "No, he doesn't," he repeated for England's sake, looking slightly crestfallen. "Mattie doesn't remember anything before the day he died."


	21. Separation

**Would you look at this. I'm back at school and I still manage to produce a timely update. I've actually impressed myself. (...but that's only 'cause the professors haven't yet assigned any god-awful projects, so sadly this kind of consistency probably won't be the norm.)**

**Anyways, this chapter includes more talking and more feels and maybe even a little plot twist (at least, I think it's a plot twist). Let me know what you think about it, and in addition, if you had managed to guess this revelation before this chapter.**

**And again, you people are absolutely amazing. The love this story is getting, from regular readers and new readers alike, is just humbling. I can't thank you guys enough for the kind feedback and support you've given me. I can say one thing for certain; this story would not be where it's at now without your help. So thank you, so so much. :)**

**Alright then, on to the chapter.**

**I possedere nulla. (I own nothing, in Italian.)**

**Enjoy. **

* * *

Although America tried to hide it, he knew that the untroubled expression he was trying to maintain wasn't fooling anybody. Both England and Canada knew him far too well. The idea that Canada didn't remember anything, didn't remember the centuries he and America shared before anyone had discovered them – that he didn't even remember his time as a colony – hit America fairly hard. It was like the majority of his life with his brother had been torn away from him. This knowledge wasn't perhaps as devastating as the revealing of Canada's death, but it still seeped deep and cold into America's bones, an unavoidable truth that he couldn't escape.

The smile that America plastered on didn't quite reach his eyes, his attempt at being lighthearted was feeble at best. But America was determined to push through this, trying to take the truth in stride rather than wallow in some self-inflicted misery.

He was the hero, god damnit, and was going to fix this.

America took a deep breath before speaking.

"What do you think this means, Arthur?" he asked, forcing the words out. Both England and Canada had fallen into a silence, neither of them taking the initiative to talk, and so America had taken it upon himself to keep the conversation going. "Maybe it's just 'cuz of the trauma?"

Blinking a couple of times, England seemed to shake off whatever had kept him silent. "No lad, I don't think so," he said, pausing slightly before clarifying. "I would need to know more, but if Matthew's memory loss is as complete as you say, then we would have another issue altogether."

America felt his smile fade. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. But as I said, I still need to know all the facts." England then turned to face the empty seat to America's left, looking somewhat awkward as he started to talk. "Uh, Matthew… lad, can you tell us _exactly _how much you remember?"

America glanced over to his brother, knowing that he would have to take on the role of translator.

Canada blinked once at being addressed directly by the Englishman before looking down at the ground, brows furrowed in thought.

"Uh, well… it's not like there's stuff I don't_ remember_," he said slowly, almost as if trying out the words for size. "It's more like… like the memories just _aren't_ _there_."

America paused uncertainly for a moment. "Um, isn't that kinda the same thing?"

"Isn't what the same thing?" England asked from behind him, voice tinged with displeasure at being left out.

America ignored him, waiting for his brother to answer.

Canada sighed, looking at America apologetically. "I don't really know how to explain this, but it's like I'm being told to find memories that just never existed." He looked down at his feet, expression marred with confusion. "There isn't even an empty space where the memories should be. It's just… they just don't exist, Al."

It was as if each word Canada spoke amplified America's growing sense of helplessness. Trying to shake off the heavy feeling, America gave his brother one last look before turning back to England and repeating the Canadian's words.

England didn't seem nearly as affected as America did by the given information.

"This definitely does not sound like a case of trauma," he finally said after spending a few moments in contemplative silence. "In fact, it almost sounds as if–" he cut himself off, eyes widening slightly as he seemed to consider something. Then, swiftly turning towards the Canadian's chair, he shot off a couple of quick questions.

"You say you remember absolutely _nothing_ from your pre-country days?"

Canada sat back, giving America a confused look at the sudden change of intensity before hesitantly nodding yes.

At England's insistence, America relayed the answer.

"Right," England concurred curtly in acknowledgement. "And you also said that the first day you _do_ remember is July 1st, 1867? Your first day of independence?"

"Yes," Canada answered, and America echoed the word.

England nodded his head as if this was exactly the response he had been expecting. There was obviously an idea forming in his thoughts, but America found himself just as lost as the Canadian likely was. Immediately after receiving the answers, the older nation had fallen into a contemplative silence. The two north Americans ended up looking at England with more than a little mystification.

However, if America was to be completely honest with himself, the sudden austerity of England's words had somewhat alarmed America. He wasn't quite sure he was going to like whatever answer England had constructed. America narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the older nation keenly for any indication of what was to come.

After a couple more seconds of silence, America finally decided to speak up.

"What?" he asked bluntly, hoping to prompt England to explain exactly what his thoughts were.

There was one final pause of silence as England looked up at his former colony, expression tinged with something akin to remorse. America frowned, about to comment on the strange look when England sighed, nodding his head almost imperceptibly before speaking, voice wavering with uncertainty.

"I… I can't be certain, but I _think_ something similar to this _has_ actually happened before." His gaze strayed to Matthew's chair. "But it would mean that Matthew… _this_ Matthew… wouldn't be the one you thought he was."

America blinked twice, the words not making sense to him. To his side, Canada frowned, mouth opened slightly in confusion. "What does that mean, Al?" he asked, turning to face the American.

America shook his head, giving his brother a quick look of uncertainty before voicing his thoughts to the Englishman. "Wouldn't be the one I _what_?" he repeated incredulously, not quite understanding the aim of this conversation. He gave the older nation a disconcerted look. "You're gonna have to give us a bit more than that."

England took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to close momentarily as he prepared himself for the explanation. "I believe that Matthew," he said evenly, nodding briefly in the Canadian's direction, "is not the same Canada as the one you knew before." He paused to let that sink in. "If he has no recollection of his past life, which seems to be the case, then he is in all likelihood a _different_ Matthew than the one that perished in the War of 1812."

America sat motionless in his chair, mouth hanging open slightly as he processed the statement. "What're you saying, Artie?" he finally asked finally, words coming out slowly, disbelieving. "Are trying to tell me that the original Matthew Williams – my _brother_ – actually _isn't_ the guy sitting right here next to me? That's impossible." He punctuated the last word with determination.

Canada shifted in his seat, looking suddenly out of place. His eyes were trained at his feet, an expression of distress on his face, and he continued to remain silent.

Following America's resolute declaration was a long moment of silence. England looked at America steadily, almost as if assessing the young nation before him, before lowering his gaze. "As I said, lad, I cannot be certain of what I'm saying. But it is my belief that the Canada with us here right now," he shot another look in the Canadian's direction," is a new representative that was born on July 1st, 1867 to personify the newly formed Dominion of Canada." England then closed his eyes for a moment, obviously giving himself a quick respite before he continued speaking. "Matthew does not remember anything before 1867 because he personally never experienced it."

America blinked a few time, the penetrating words resonating in the corner of his heart where he held all the memories of his and Matthew's co-existence. Without even meaning to, he found himself repeating his earlier disbelief. "So you're saying that the Matthew I remember… the one from before that War…"

Off to the side, Canada closed his eyes tightly as if trying to shut out the hurt in America's voice.

England sighed quietly, finishing America's abandoned sentence. "… is dead. For the past two hundred years he's been dead... and hasn't come back." He glanced between the two seats sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I truly am. If it is of any condolence, this idea is only my best conclusion." His gaze finally settled on America. "You are entitled to believe what you wish; lord knows you've been through enough today, you don't need me forcing theories down your throat."

America seemed lost for a second, staring at England with wide, afflicted eyes. "I… I don't know what to believe," he said slowly, blinking rapidly a couple of times before frowning slightly. He turned to look at Canada.

The northern nation had finally resorted to looking down blankly at his hands, his arms having come together to fold neatly in his lap. He seemed lost in thought, but after the brief moment of silence that followed America's last sentence, the Canadian blinked once and looked up to meet his brother's eyes.

It looked as if the American was pleading him for an answer.

America watched as his brother closed his eyes for a moment, an almost meditative look coming over the northern nation's features, before Canada finally looked up and fixed America with a sincere, if remorseful, stare. The look passed in silence until the Canadian spoke up, answering America's silent plea.

"I… I think he's right, Al. That's what I feel." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not the Matthew you grew up with."

And then…

"I'm sorry."


	22. Absolution

**And here we are. Good ol' chapter 22. Sorry about the longer wait, but do you remember those god-awful projects I was talking about last update? Well I suddenly got bombarded with them seemingly all at once. But I prevailed, kind of. And thus we have this update here. This is good, yes?**

**So I hope you wonderful people are doing well and stuff. I don't know about you, but up here it the great white north it's just about cold enough to kill someone. Which is not fun, at all. I may be Canadian, but I don't like frolicking through Arctic temperatures on a regular basis. I'll stick with my hot chocolate and warm pancakes, thank you very much.**

**On another note, I must thank you all for your wonderful support, ideas, and feedback. It's all amazing, seriously. You have no idea how happy it makes me when I see the kind words you've offered me. You're all awesome. So thank you, very very much. :)**

**And so, without further ado. The chapter.**

**Jeg eier ingenting (I own nothing, in Norwegian.)**

**Enjoy.**

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Canada leaned back in his seat, allowing his eyes to close. He felt as if everything that he had known, every aspect of his life, was under bombardment from a gradually revealing truth. And without even realizing it, he found himself apologizing – apologizing for not being the person he had always thought he was. If was difficult, Canada realized, trying to keep a brave face when your world was crashing down around you.

But when he looked at America – when saw the nearly devastated expression on his brother's face – Canada understood that although he was having a hard time coming to terms with the truth, it was America who was being broken into pieces.

"I'm sorry," Canada repeated, trying his utmost to look sincere and reassuring. "I really didn't know."

America swallowed heavily, eyes lowering in thought. "Yeah, it… it's ok, bro. I'm alright. I just… I wished I could have known."

Canada took a breath, finding himself much calmer than he would have expected. "Me too, I guess. But it's not like anything has really changed, has it? I don't feel any different."

America smiled lightly, though his blue eyes still flashed with sorrow. "Yeah Mattie. At least between us, it's still the same." He paused uncertainly for a moment before continuing. "I just really hope that I didn't force you to become anything you didn't want to. Like my own version of Canada. That wouldn't be very heroic like, making you change to what I thought Matthew Williams should be…"

Canada immediately shook his head, dispelling the statement. "Of course you didn't," he replied strongly, putting as much force as possible behind that declaration. "I'm a country, eh? It's the land and people who make us who we are. You didn't force me to become anything."

America looked a little more relieved after hearing that, relaxing slightly and giving Canada a grateful nod of understanding.

And then, seeming a little livelier, America turned to face the patient Englishman, relaying a brief version of the conversation that had just passed in order to fill him in. Canada couldn't help but feel somewhat reassured. He had been worried for his brother. Although Canada himself was feeling wholly overwhelmed by all the passing events, it was America who was taking the brunt of these truths.

The Canada he had known for all those hundreds of years – the one he knew before ever meeting any of the other nations – was long dead, killed by America himself. And America had never known until now.

The northern nation frowned slightly, staring at the ground beneath his feet. It was like he was an imposter. A replacement for America's brother. A personification of not only the country Canada, but of the original Matthew Williams.

Canada wasn't sure what he should be feeling right now, but a sense of emptiness seemed to claw at his insides.

Taking a deep breath, the Canadian tried to compose himself, shaking off the sensation of misery and instead focusing in on the other two nation's discussion. America had fallen quiet after repeating the last few words to the waiting Englishman, and so England had pushed forward with the conversation, obviously trying to keep America's troubled mind occupied.

"He's right, you know," he told the American, nodding once in Canada's direction to indicate who he was talking about. "You never forced anything upon him. Just like the previous Canada, this Matthew Williams developed thanks to the nation he represents. The only difference would be that this one personifies not just the land or a colony, but an independent country."

America didn't answer, but titled his head to the side slightly and let out a small hum of confusion.

England simply took this as indication to go on. "You see, that's probably the reason why the original Canada died. He wasn't a full country yet. He was only a colony... " England paused briefly for a moment, guilt clouding his features, before continuing in a steady voice. "A normal nation would have in all likelihood _survived_ that shot to the head, but since Matthew wasn't a normal nation, he… well, he passed away. It'd be as simple as that." England then fixed America with a remorseful stare. "I'm sorry, for the both of you. This is something that should have never happened."

There was a long moment of silence, the heavy truth of England's words settling among the three nations. Canada lowered his gaze, looking instead at the floor, thoughts troubled.

_So I – the previous me – died because I wasn't an independent nation. _Canada glanced at England. _I guess he would have inadvertently taken control of my country, eh? If I died while I was his colony. It makes sense, I guess._ Canada then closed his eyes. _I wished it hadn't happened though. I wished I had lived back then. But… would I still be the same now? If I had survived 1812?_

Canada opened his eyes with a start, a realization bursting into the forefront of his mind.

If Canada indeed wasn't the same person as the 1812 Matthew, if he was a _new_ nation born in 1867, then he was most definitely not dead. _I can't be_, Canada thought breathlessly, _it… it was the other me who died, not me_. _I should still be alive._

And after just hearing a couple of hours ago that he was a ghost, Canada grasped onto the idea of being alive like a lifeline.

He turned with bated breath to face America, who was still surrounded by an aura of melancholy. "Al…" he said expectantly, reaching across the small gap between them to tug on the American's sleeve. "A-ask England if he knows this." America titled his head in his direction, giving the Canadian his full attention.

"Yeah, what?"

"I wouldn't be a ghost," Canada began, ignoring America's slightly startled expression. "I can't be a ghost. It was the _other_ me who died. I should be perfectly fine, so why am I still invisible?"

America blinked a few times, absorbing the words in silence. He then nodded, accepting the truth of the Canadian's question. "Yeah, that's true, isn't it?" Turning to face England, who was being gratefully patient, America repeated the question, finishing with a little addition of his own.

"So that's what Mattie was wondering, but what I also want to know is why me? Why am I the only one that can see him?" America rested his chin on his hands, elbows propped up on his crossed legs. "If Mattie's not dead, and if he really is a second Canada, then what is there that makes me the only one to actually see him."

England didn't reply immediately, allowing himself a moment to consider the nature of the demands. And when the older nation finally spoke, Canada could tell that the Englishman was taking nothing more than a shot in the dark.

"I think," he began, "and there's no way to really prove what I think, but…" he hesitated slightly here, looking wholly uncertain about his next words. "I think that reason why Canada appears invisible to everyone but you, Alfred, is that the lad does not have an actual corporal existence."

Canada's eyes widened marginally, understanding the Englishman's words, but beside him America frowned. "Can you, uh, simplify that for me?"

England sighed lightly as if expecting America's need for clarification. "I believe that as far as Matthew's existence goes, due to his untimely death, he did not retain a concrete physical being. He is nothing more than the idea of a country brought to life."

Canada swallowed heavily, not at all please by then answer. America seemed the same way. "So what you're saying is that my brother is still not much more than a ghost." It wasn't so much of a question as it was a gloomy declaration.

England answered anyway. "Yes, that is my best guess."

America took the answer with minimal consideration, immediately pressing on with another demand.

"This still doesn't explain why I'm the only one that can see him."

Canada looked at his brother. It was a good point, and he found himself eager for the answer. He was almost hoping that England would somehow dispel his earlier statements about the Canadian not having a physical existence in this upcoming explanation. Turning back towards the Englishman, he was surprised to see a look of certainty upon the older nation's features. It looked like the blond had come to a determined conclusion.

England looked directly at America as he gave his answer in the form of a question.

"How many other countries are in contact with your brother's land?"

Canada blinked in confusion and America merely frowned. "Um, only mine, I think." Canada found himself humming in agreement.

England nodded once. "Exactly. And seeing as Canada's land is the only physical existence he had left, what do you think happens thanks to your solitary contact?"

Canada's eyes widened in realization, he was impressed by England's ability to unearth this answer in such a short amount of time.

"I… I would see him." America's answer was quiet and contemplative, almost a question in its underlying uncertainty, the younger nation's typically boisterous way of speaking subdued.

England gave the American a serious look. "Yes. You would see him," he repeated. "And regardless of how hard anyone else may try, you're the only who would be ever actually _capable_ of seeing Matthew."


	23. Resolution

**Ta da. I'm back. And it was only a week this time.**

**So here's yet another chapter. Um, yeah. I don't really have all that much to say right now, except that it gets a bit lighter here on out (I think) so hopefully no more tear inducing angst. That's good, yes?**

**As always, reviews and the like are greatly appreciated. And I want to give my thanks to everyone who gave me some feedback last chapter. The chapter was kind of the explaining-bit of the plot so I was grateful that some of you readers had stuff to say about it. **

**So yeah, here's another PoE chapter to begin your week. I hope you all like it. :)**

**Je ne possède rien (I own nothing, in French).**

**Enjoy.**

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America stood up, deciding that pacing the room would help him absorb all this new information better than remaining seated in his chair. He could feel two pairs of eyes on him as took calculated steps across the room, heading first towards a large bookcase before turning around, pausing a moment, and then striding back to the seats. England had just told him about the reason why America was the sole nation to see Canada. And although the Englishman continued to claim that his ideas were merely suppositions, America could feel deep down that they were truths.

This still didn't stop America from wanting clarification.

"Are you sure about this, Arthur?" He stopped moving as he neared the chairs, choosing instead to stand by his abandoned seat. He his eyes flashed behind the thin lenses of his glasses, gaze trained on the unwavering Englishman.

The older nation returned the look with the same intensity. "In all honesty, no, but do you have anything better? You wanted my input, lad, and this is the answer I've arrived to."

"Yeah, and I'm grateful for your help, seriously. It's just… would there be any way to, I don't know, at least test if it's true? Force a connection or something? _Make_ people see Mattie?"

England frowned. "There's no way I can think of, really."

America took a quick look back at Canada, who seemed deep in thought. "So then we're stuck," he said, hoping England would come up with some kind of answer.

But a solution was not forthcoming. "It would seem that way," England assented with a small grimace. "I know this isn't quite the help you were looking for, but at the very least it's a step forward for Matthew."

"I guess so…" America didn't want to call it quits now - he was determined to not give up - but at the moment he was drawing a blank. This kind of thing, coming up with plans and solutions, was not his strong point.

In the lull of silence that followed the discouraging conversation, Canada sat up straight, a sudden look of determination in his eyes.

America blinked in surprise as his brother spoke with as much conviction as he could seemingly muster. "So it's the contact between land that would allow people to see me?" It was more of a statement than a question, but America repeated it to England anyway.

The Englishman nodded. "That's my best assumption, yes."

And America tossed in his earlier argument. "But we have no way to test it."

Canada joined America in standing up, resolve written clearly in his expression. "Yes we do."

America blinked once at the absolute certainty in not only those three words, but in the Canadian's entire demeanor. "What are you talking about, bro?"

England frowned at being left out, but kept quiet, knowing he'd be informed if anything important happened.

Canada crossed him arms in front of his chest, almost as if preparing himself for the response that was sure to come from his idea.

"I'll give up some of my land." There was no gentle lead in, no beating around the bush, just the straight fact of what Canada was prepared to do.

America paused for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open as he processed the statement. "What?"

"Yeah, I'll give up some of my land," Canada said, nodding to himself as if only just coming to terms with what he was saying. "Right now, to Arthur. Then if he's right, he should see me, eh?"

America could only stare at his brother, wide eyed. Slowly, he allowed his gaze to leave the determined Canadian and land on the Englishman in question. England, obviously not aware of what was being discussed, merely looked forward blankly.

"Hey, Artie," America said incredulously, garnering the older nation's attention. "Mattie wants to give you a bit of his country so that you'll be able to see him."

America watched in detached amusement as the Englishman's expression turn from one of confusion to one of absolute surprise. Allowing him some time to absorb the nature of that statement, America turned back towards his brother.

"Um, Mattie, I don't think you can just _do_ something like that… you know, giving up bits of yourself."

Before Canada could reply, England cut in with his own objections.

"Yes, lad, Alfred is right," England said in slight agitation, staring at the chair where Canada no longer sat, not aware that the younger nation was now standing beside the piece of furniture. "You can't jolly well go and give me a piece of your country."

Canada frowned, looking at America as he spoke. "Why not?" he asked, uncharacteristically stubborn. "It will only be a small part, and I'm pretty big so it won't affect me too much." His expression hardened in resolve as he continued. "Also, I can always take it back if it doesn't work. Please Al, it's the best chance we've got."

America remained silent for a moment, not at all pleased with the idea of his brother tearing off a fragment of himself to give to another nation, even if it was to England. Quickly, he relayed the Canadian's latest argument to the Englishman before turning to face his brother and countering with an argument of his own.

"Dude, what about your government. Do you think they'll be happy with you just giving away a part of their nation?"

Canada's brow furrowed, but the determination refused to leave his face. "Well, it's not like they'll ever know," he said before mumbling almost to himself. "And really, they kind of have it coming to them."

Just barely being able to make out the words, America titled his head slightly to the side. "Um, really, how so?" If he disregarded the seriousness of the conversation, he would have found it fairly amusing to see his brother this adamant about something.

Canada raised his chin in a rare show of defiance. "Well they went and gave away a whole hospital wing in Ottawa to Netherlands in World War Two without ever telling me anything. And I mean, I would have been completely okay with it, but it would have been kind of nice to know beforehand."

America blinked once before laughing slightly. "Seriously bro? You wanna get back at them for a hospital wing?"

Off to the side, England frowned in confusion. "What...?"

Canada's eyebrow rose fractionally. "It's not a matter of getting even," he said sincerely, directing his words to America. "It's a matter of doing something for myself so that I'm no longer useless."

America was about to cut in, ready to tell his brother that no, he wasn't useless, but Canada continued on determinedly.

"If it means becoming a little smaller so that I can actually be seen, then I want to do it."

America took his brother's resounding answer in silence. Surprisingly, he found himself understanding the feelings the Canadian was likely experiencing; the desire to be free from restrictions, the knowledge that you'd do whatever it takes to shake off the chains of constraint. He glanced over to the waiting Englishman, allowing his thoughts to return to the more pressing matter.

"Artie, he's really gonna do it."

England returned his gaze with a slightly anxious expression. "I don't get a say in the matter, do I?" he asked rhetorically.

America gave a little huff of laughter, feeling somewhat better about this entire ordeal. "No, man, I don't think you do."

"Oh, I see. Brilliant." The Englishman looked lost for a moment before his expression turned serious, glancing at America with solemn eyes. "And you do know that this isn't something that should be taken lightly, right? Matthew should be completely certain about his decision."

"Believe me, he is." America turned back towards the Canadian, speaking as he did so. "You're gonna do this regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

Canada gave him a confident, is somewhat nervous smile. "Yeah, I am."

America nodded in acceptance, allowing his lips to curve upwards slightly. "Then you better make sure this works, 'cuz I wanna see the look on Artie's face when he finally sees ya again."

Ignoring England's half-hearted scowl, Canada laughed. "That's what I'm hoping for, Al."


	24. Allocation

**Hey all. I'm back with the longest chapter to date. Over two thousand words (which isn't that much, I know, but this story originally had chapters of only 500 words). This chapter gets pretty metaphorical at places, and the entire process depicted is born solely of my own head-cannon, so I hope you can follow it. Personally, I think it turned out alright.**

**I have to once again thank my sister chocolateCake27 for helping me through this update. She even took my laptop at points and just started writing for me when I got stuck. So she deserves a thank you.**

**Please feel free to leave a review to let me know your thoughts. I'll do my best to answer any questions that you may have.**

**I still own nothing, what a shame.**

**Enjoy.**

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The tension in the room was bordering on oppressive, and England found himself shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

_What the bloody hell am I getting myself in to? _

He looked over at America. The younger nation was conversing animatedly with the air to his left, going over all the _are you sure's _and the _what if's_ of Canada's bold decision. It was, as far as England could tell, America's attempt at being the protective and reasonable older brother in this serious situation.

It was definitely a change from the American's typically overconfident and brazen attitude.

England exhaled, feeling slightly anxious. _How did I get dragged into this? I didn't agree to anything. No one is asking ME if I'm sure. Because I'm not. Hell, I was just hypothesizing when I though up all these ideas…_

He glanced over to America again, watching as the younger nation gave a brotherly hug to a seemingly empty space of air.

…_but I guess I will admit that this is the least I can do. _The Englishman sighed, allowing his eyes to close briefly as he thought over the concept once again.

_The theory that the connection of land is the catalyst of Canada's invisibility is in all likelihood the right idea. But nevertheless…_ England opened his eyes, an expression of concern on his face. _This procedure could still go catastrophically wrong._

England leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, deciding to voice his uncertainties. "I just want to warn you two that this whole idea may not go over as smoothly as you might think."

America titled his head to the side. "Yeah, I figured, but Mattie still wants to go through with it."

England nodded his head slightly. "Very well, but you do understand that there are many problems that could go wrong with this exchange of territory, right?"

Interested despite himself, America hummed in question. "Like what?"

"Well, for one, this transfer may not even succeed. Without the consensus of the government or people, who knows if Canada's land would successfully join with my own country?" England paused momentarily before continuing. "Also, there's the chance that relinquishing land would only make Matthew weaker, and still not let me see him. And then perhaps when I try to return the given portion, I'll find myself unable to do so. In addition to all this, there's always the possibility that the government will realize what has occurred, among other unfavourable things." England swallowed dryly, giving himself a moment to rest. "I also must say that this kind of land transferral does not happen too often, as you might imagine."

America frowned, seeming to process the words. "So what, would wars or forced occupation be more common than freely giving over land?"

England grimaced. "Well, yes, actually. That or it's dealt with by the government, through official forms and declarations. Having just us, the representatives, preforming this affair is quite unusual."

America nodded slightly to himself. "Didn't think it'd be this complicated," he mumbled sullenly, looking over to his left and blinking once, obviously listening to something.

England remained silent, allowing whatever exchange that was happening to occur. After a long moment, America spoke, directing the question to his brother.

"You sure 'bout this?"

A beat of silence, and then the younger nation turned to face the Englishman. "Mattie says he wants to do it now."

England couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise. "Wait, _now_? Really?"

"Yeah, right now."

Mouth open slightly in surprise, England blinked a few times. "Alright then," he said slowly, somewhat alarmed at the pace that this decision was moving. "If that's what you two want, then I suppose we should, ah, move forwards with the… event."

England was feeling a little taken aback. Just this morning he was preparing tea while planning to catch up on some reading. Now he was about to obtain a piece of land from a decidedly real Canada in hopes of finally seeing the poor lad.

America nodded once in a serious manner. "Okay," he replied, looking uncharacteristically solemn. "Is there anything that I need to do?

"Uh, well, just repeat whatever Matthew says," England answered. He then inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a beat longer than necessary before expelling the air from his lungs. "I'm not quite certain about how to proceed with the transferral, but… I'll give it my best attempt."

"Alright, and Mattie says he's good with that."

England closed his eyes, trying to think up a suitable verbal declaration that could be used in this circumstance. Going over a few chosen sentences in his mind a couple of times, he amended them to fit the situation. It was a bit challenging, but he welcomed the chance to divert his attention to something consistent and understandable. Deciding he was content with the revision, England opened his eyes and began speaking, repeating the formal sentences carefully.

"We are meeting here today to discuss the allocation of national territory between the two representatives of The Dominion of Canada and The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. As a present witness, can you, The United States of America, agree to this statement?" England gave the surprised younger nation a stern glare, trying to tell him through looks alone that he was not to question the sudden change of atmosphere.

America seemed to recognize the warning and settled with a one word response. "Yes."

England nodded his head gratefully at America's answer. "Therefore, to proceed with the transferral we will now refer to the nation of Canada." He turned his gaze to what he concluded was the Canadian's direction.

England vaguely hoped he wasn't overwhelming the poor nation. Dispelling the thought, he took a deep breath before continuing.

"What part of your land are you, The Dominion of Canada, prepared to relinquish to The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland in exchange for… well, for nothing?" England finished the inquiry somewhat awkwardly, looking down at the ground between the chairs as he waited for the sure-to-come response.

After a suitable amount of time, America replied for his brother, speaking with as much seriousness as he could muster.

"He agrees to give you the mostly uninhabited territory between Fort Severn and Winisk located in Northern Ontario," there was another brief moment of silence, "which amounts to a total area of 100 kilometers squared."

England blinked in surprise. "100 kilometers… roughly 40 miles. That's a sizeable piece of land, are you sure about this?"

America, who was also looking a little skeptical, directed his gaze briefly to his left before looking at England. "Yeah, he says it's not that big for him." He then frowned slightly, obviously listening to the Canadian in question. "He wants to make sure it's enough to work."

England hummed in tentative acceptance. "Very well then, we shall continue."

"Alright," America said, "Mattie wants to know what to do next."

England gave himself a moment to get his thoughts in order before proceeding with a few vague instructions.

"Think of yourself like a puzzle," he began hesitantly, not quite certain a metaphor was the ideal answer, but moving forwards with it all the same. "And the land you wish to share as a piece of this puzzle. What you need to do," England took a measured breath, hoping he was right about this, "is detach that piece from the whole. Let someone else come along and take that piece. If it's still attached to your country, I can't claim it as my own without resorting to force – and I refuse to do that."

America's eyes had widened slightly. "Really, that's it. You just have say 'I don't want this land anymore' and then it's done?"

England grimaced. "It's a little more difficult than that – forcing yourself to willingly letting go of your territory – but yes, I suppose that essentially it's the same as that."

"It seems too easy."

"Well think about his way," England explained, giving America a solemn look. "Say you accidentally let too much land go… if you detach too many pieces of yourself, there can be severe consequences. Obviously there could be weakness, or pain, maybe even change of personality. And what if it all becomes detached? You… you could cause your own death."

America bit his lip unhappily. "And you're gonna let Mattie do this?" Frowning, he then turned to his left. "Matt, I know you're– but you heard what he said, it's dangerous… yeah, yeah, I hear what you're saying, it's just…" there was a brief moment of silence, and England knew that the Canadian was in all likelihood defending his case. Eventually, America turned back to look at the older nation, a look of reluctant compliance on his face. "Alright, Matt's still gonna do it. He says he's gonna be safe." He took a deep breath and muttered quietly under his breath. "When did he become so stubborn?" And then, spoken louder, words directed at England. "Dude, this… this just better work, kay?"

England looked at the torn American for a moment longer than necessary before closing his eyes. "Believe me, I also want this to succeed. But you know I can't make any promises."

Eyes still closed, England heard America sigh. He knew the younger nation was struggling with this new sense of helplessness, but there was nothing England could do to alleviate his stress without outright lying. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, deciding to address the seemingly stubborn Canadian before him. He allowed his eyes to open briefly as he looked to America's left.

"Alright then, Matthew," he began slowly, taking a few calming breaths, trying to prepare himself to receive whatever new land was about to be thrown his way. "You may proceed."

And then, once again, England closed his eyes, knowing that he would have to limit his main senses in order to gain the precision needed to find Canada's land. From behind closed lids, he heard America give one last warning.

"Be careful."

England knew the statement was aimed at America's brother, but the older nation took the words to heart.

_Careful_, he thought, allowing his senses to reach forwards in the darkness, searching. _Only take what is offered. Don't reach too far, don't overstep your boundaries. _He drew the air slowly into his lungs, ears ringing in the silence of the room. England couldn't imagine how America must feel right now, waiting powerlessly for something, anything, to happen.

For a moment, the darkness England found himself in was utter and complete. The only thing anchoring him to materiality was the connection the nation had to his land, a solid, unwavering light at the back of his mind. Then, slowly, a pinpoint of illumination appeared on the horizon of his senses, growingly marginally before rooting itself in the darkness and pulsating with a cool, cold glow.

A feeling of snowy winters and large coniferous forests, soft rolling hills and craggy rock outcrops, radiated from the blue-tinged light. England shivered slightly, but allowed his mind to reach forward, approaching the faint luminosity with guarded senses.

And then he could feel it, the offered piece of land, free and detached. From somewhere far in the distance, England could sense a greater body of light, one that radiated with harsh blizzards and warm springs and high mountains and endless plains, the origin of this lone, disconnected fragment.

Reaching forward, England took hold of the piece, the illumination now glowing at the forefront of his mind. It floated there, not yet connected, the blue light clashing inharmoniously with England's own cloudy green.

England frowned, struggling to match the fragment's element with the substance of his land. It was like a piece of a puzzle that just wouldn't fit into the completed picture. The larger body of light had long since receded, and England spared a brief thought of relief that Canada had managed to complete the matter without too much of an issue. Focusing back on the task at hand, England gritted his teeth, eyes still closed as he strained to fit the piece with the body of his nation.

And then, with a final surge of effort, the fragment locked into place. It was perhaps not fitting as solidly as England might like, but the connection was there, existing where previously there had been nothing.

Taking a deep, calming breath, England allowed his thoughts to settle. The process had worked, and England could feel the new link shining within him even though the older nation had since let go of the fragment. England swallowed, knowing what the next step had to be.

And so, after one last moment to steady himself, the British nation opened his eyes.


	25. Dedication

**Okay, so I'm posting this in a bit of a hurry. Sorry about that, and sorry about it being kind of late-ish. I hope this is what you wonderful people were looking for. If you see any mistakes, feel free to let me know - I'm sure I missed one or two in my haste to get this up.**

**Again, thank you to EVERYONE, you are all absolutely amazing. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

**Also I just want to give a special thanks to a guest reviewer that has been with us for a while now called mofalle. I love the reviews you leave, and I'm sad that you don't have an account so I could message you my thanks. But I just wanted youto know that I really appreciate your feedback. So yeah, thanks. **

**Okay, I own nothing, blah blah blah.**

**Enjoy.**

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It had been difficult, willingly letting go of that fragment. Despite its relatively small size, Canada could still feel a prominent hole where the piece had used to fit. It had taken nearly all his strength to not snatch the land back as soon as he had released it. But Canada had persevered, because for once in his life he was determined to finally do something to fix his regrettable invisibility.

And so, after slowly pulling away, he allowed his eyes to open.

To his right, America gave him a quick look, concerned eyes glinting behind the lenses of his glasses.

"I'm fine," Canada said in hushed tones, appreciating the worry his brother felt towards him. America had always acted in a friendly and outgoing manner towards the Canadian, but now it was as if the blue-eyed nation was truly taking on his role as an elder brother.

America gave a small nod in understanding, staying uncharacteristically silent. It wasn't until Canada finally glanced over to where England sat that he understood why.

The Englishman was perfectly still, eyes closed and brow furrowed in deep concentration. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, head bent slightly forward from his position in the chair.

Canada felt his breath still, afraid even the slightest noise would disturb England – and that was assuming the older nation was even capable of hearing him. It was obvious he was still struggling with accepting the given land. Canada studied the Englishman for a long moment, biting on his lower lip nervously and fretting over whether or not he had performed the exchange correctly. Perhaps there was still something else he needed to do before England could take the land? What if this all went wrong?

Just as Canada opened his mouth to finally voice his concerns to the American beside him, bright green eyes snapped open.

Both brothers went rigid as England blinked several times, gaze wavering slightly before focusing.

On Canada.

On him.

England was _looking_ at _him_. Not in his general direction, not through him, not over his shoulder or at something behind him.

England was actually looking _at_ him.

And Canada found that he was suddenly at a complete loss as to what do to – how to react. For as long as he could remember, America was the only one to ever hold his eye contact or comment on what he was wearing or to shoot him a knowing glance when something funny between the two was brought up.

America had been the only who ever saw him.

And, as much as he didn't want to admit it, Canada had _almost _gotten used to it. So used to it, in fact, that at this moment, he wasn't quite sure how he was even supposed to feel. Happy, he supposed. Excited, maybe.

Thoughts still whirling, Canada was suddenly aware of a voice speaking from off to his right.

"Is it working? Can you see him now?" The questions were directed at England, but America's restless gaze continued to switch between both nations before him. "Is it working?" he repeated.

Canada wanted to answer. He wanted to speak up as he always had to quell his brother's rising anxiety when his southern neighbour got riled up over something. He even got so far as to open his mouth, yet sound refused to come out. And Canada suddenly came the realization that there were two people in the room with him, and _both _were looking at him, at the same time.

He wouldn't need America to translate for him anymore, for the next time he spoke, England would be able to hear the words for himself.

_So why can't I say anything?_

England, for his part, seemed to have no such problem. While appearing startled, uncertain and wary, speaking seemed to be no issue for the shorter man.

"Matthew?" he asked slowly, voice barely above a whisper. The single word – the name – was phrased as a question, but it was obvious that it was meant instead as some kind of statement of verification. England could see him, and England was confirming it with a simple request from Canada.

And so when nothing but a dry sob escaped though his trembling lips, even Canada felt a little surprised. He had fully intended to speak in a polite and civilized manner, yet it was as if that first gasp was the catalyst for a wave of emotions Canada hadn't even know he was restraining.

America gave him a panicked look as tears began to gather in the violet eyes, another sob breaking past the Canadian's defences.

This wasn't at all how Canada had planned it going. He tried to control his shaking frame, tried to put forth a good impression to the Englishman who was now looking at him quite concernedly, but the only thing he could manage right now was to not fully break down bawling.

America leaned forward to look at him in the eye. "Dude, are you okay?" he asked, anxiety clearly present on his face. "Why are you crying? Is this exchange-thing hurting you?" He gave a quick glance back to England, who was looking wholly taken aback. "Is it hurting him? Artie, make it stop."

Canada rubbed ineffectually at his eyes, trying to stop the tears from spilling over. He knew it was unbecoming, but it was just such a relief, finally being seen my more than one person. Facing America, he tried to quell the other nation's worry, looking past the water in the corners of his eyes and giving him a shaky smile.

"Ah, A–Al, I… I'm…" Canada swallowed heavily, feeling foolish at his overly emotional state. "It's okay. I'm not–" he blinked, pausing mid-sentence as he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Turning his head back towards England, he saw that the older nation had gotten up out of his seat and closed the small distance between them, an outstretched arm gently bridging the final gap and a concerned expression adorning his face.

And even before England could utter a single word, Canada felt tears spilling over his cheeks anew as whatever he had been trying to say dissolved into a blubbering mess. Physical contact had been few and far in between for the Canadian, and although it had never really bothered him, having someone other than his brother giving him a comforting hand broke the dam containing his restrained emotions.

He didn't even try to fight it anymore, his senses obviously far too overwhelmed to handle the passing events. It wasn't that he was sad, and he wasn't in pain, it was merely that the relief and liberation were so tremendous that Canada's feeling of stability was completely thrown off-kilter.

America gave one look to Canada's fresh batch of tears before whirling on the disconcerted Englishman. "Dude, what's wrong with him?! Why won't he stop crying?" He put his hand on the Canadian's free shoulder, grip a bit more forceful than England's placid touch. "If it's hurting him then give back the damn piece. Yo, Mattie, hang in there, I'm gonna fix this."

Even England was starting to look a little worried, crouching down so he was at Canada's level and peering at him with uncertain green eyes. "Matthew, lad, is everything alright?" He loosened his grip fractionally, wary of the Canadian's continuing tears. "Do you, uh, wish for me to return the land?"

Acting on pure instinct, Canada reached out a grasped England's now retreating arm. "No," he managed to gasp through the tears. "No, no, I– I don't want to be invisible again. _Please_."

England stilled, eyes wide, and even America seemed momentarily stunned.

Canada let out another sob despite himself. "I just… it's finally…" He blinked through the tears that continued to fall. "Someone else can finally _see_ me," he said, not letting go of England's arm. "You don't know h-how happy that makes me. I– I'm s-sorry I can't stop crying."

A softer look came over England's features, the worry from before all but gone. A slight upturning of his lips showed that he too was happy for the northern nation, and Canada's grip on England's arm gradually relented.

And then, unexpectedly, England's arms wrapped around the younger nation in a paternal hug. Canada stiffened slightly in surprise, tears halting momentarily at the sudden contact. From somewhere above his head he heard England speak, voice soft and caring.

"It's alright to cry, lad. No one here is judging you." There was then a short pause where Canada could feel England shifting, and he assumed the older nation was now looking at America. The next words, however, were directed at them both.

"I should be the one apologizing. This is my fault." As England spoke Canada relaxed slightly, allowing his tear stained face to rest of England's sturdy shoulder. He felt the arms around him shift into a more comfortable position as the Englishman continued speaking.

"I'm sorry. I know I said it before, but… I'm truly, honestly sorry." There was a single pause before he continued. "I'm glad that I've finally been able to do something to help you two."

There was a moment of comfortable silence where Canada's tears gradually faded to intermittent sniffles. Finally, as the Canadian started to pull away from the Englishman's secure hold, America spoke up.

"So dudes," he said with just slightest hint of awkwardness, "this is touching and all – hugs and apologies are cool – and I'm like really happy that this worked and stuff... but, uh, what are we gonna do now?"

Canada flushed a little, rubbing at his still-wet cheeks as England scowled cynically and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"You truly have no proficiency in reading the atmosphere, do you?" the Englishman said with a derisive turn of the head, but Canada could still see a good-natured glint in the green eyes. "And what do you mean, 'what do we do now'?"

America frowned as he leaned back in his chair. "It's just, we're not going to _stop _here, are we? What about the rest of the world? Even if they can't see you, Mattie," he turned to Canada, giving him a resolute look, "at least we need to show then that you exist."

Canada stared at his determined brother, still feeling wholly overwhelmed. "Al, you don't need to keep doing this for-"

"No Mattie," America cut-in, "I do. And now that there's three of us, I know we can do finally do something to _fix_ this, once and for all. Right Artie?"

England looked a little taken aback, but there was still a glint of dedication in his eyes. "Well, yes, I suppose." He then gave the brothers a sincere look, acceptance in his expression. "If you are indeed determined to see this through to the end, then I will be here with you."


	26. Navigation

**Hmm, a day late, I think. I've kind of adopted Sunday as my update day, but hey, any update is a good update, no? I hope all your Mondays have been good so far, though... and if not, then hopefully this chapter will make it better.**

**So now we're off into another mini-ark of plot. I hope there's no qualms about what's going to happen. It's gonna tie back in with chapter... what was it again... four, I think. Yes, chapter four. I know some people asked me way back then about a certain person's behaviour, and I've finally decided to bring him back up here... in chapter 26. Heh.**

**And fun fact, I'm updating this while in my Philosophy class. So yeah, I'm blissfully ignoring my professor as I write out this author's note. Who cares about Spinoza anyway? **

**Again, you people are awesome. I'm glad you enjoyed that last chapter, since I think it was one of my favorites I've written so far. Hopefully you'll all enjoy this one too. As always, let me know what you think. Any ideas, thoughts, questions?**

**Alright, off to read, all of you. Standard disclaimer blah blah I own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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"So, tell me again why we are going to visit France?"

America stared at England from across the small space of the car, giving the Englishman a pointed look. Seeing that no answer was forthcoming, he pushed on with another question.

"So just after two days of chillin' at your house you suddenly decide to drag us along to old Franny's place?" He leaned back in the passenger seat, briefly meeting Canada's equally perplexed gaze in the rear-view mirror before turning back to England. "Um, so yeah, _why _are we doing this?"

England shot America a displeased look before returning his eyes to the road. "I told you before we left, you dimwit, and you asking me every other hour isn't going to change my answer."

"Yeah yeah, but just explain it to me _one_ more time."

The Englishman muttered something under his breath, but refused to look at the persistent younger nation.

"Artie…"

In the back seat, Canada shifted awkwardly. "Um, Al, maybe you should just–"

America twisted in his seat to look behind him. "Dude, come on. You gotta be a little confused too, right?" He rested his chin on the back of his seat, arm wrapped around the headrest. "I mean, Arthur just doesn't up and visit Francis without some kind of _good_ reason. And you gotta admit the reason Artie's given us so far ain't that good."

"Well… I suppose…"

America took this acquisition as a sign to proceed with his questions. Turning back around, the younger nation eyed the disgruntled Englishman once more.

"Look man, we're almost there, so just tell me one last time _why_ we're doing this." The demand left no room for evasion, and America felt a slight sense of satisfaction as England sighed with reluctant compliance.

There was one last beat of silence as the Englishman focused on switching lanes, eyes flickering to the side mirror before straightening the wheel and glancing over at the impatient American. "You wanted to convince the others that Matthew does indeed exist," he stated curtly, eyes once again trained on the road. "And this is also what Matthew wants, yes?" He tilted his head slightly towards the Canadian, encouraging the northern nation's reply.

Canada answered with a simple "yes" before quietly adding, "If it's not too much trouble."

England nodded acceptingly even as America shot him an unimpressed look.

"That doesn't really tell us why we're going to _France_," the western nation said, arms crossed in front of his chest. "I'm not against it or anything, I just want to know what's going on."

The Englishman rolled his eyes, but continued speaking. "Well if we're going to convince the world of Matthew's existence, then we're going to regrettably need some more support."

"And this support is _Francis_?" America looked at England incredulously. "Seriously? Don't you like, hate the dude?"

From the corner of his eye, America could see Canada nod his head in agreement, also giving the Englishman a puzzled look.

England sighed, mouth pressed in a thin line. "Well I by no means enjoy being in the presence of that bloody tosser," he said irritably, "but unfortunately he is the one that will provide us the most help."

America's eyebrows rose fractionally. "How?"

England's eyes slid over to the questioning American, giving him an exasperated look before staring back out through the windshield. "It's like this," he began disgruntledly. "The two of us," England briefly gestured towards America while keeping one hand on the wheel, "will have a difficult time convincing _anyone_ about Matthew without having at least one other person on our side. We need four people - you, me, Matthew, and someone else - as the bare minimum if we're to succeed in this ambition."

America huffed unhappily, caught between two different rebuttals. Making up his mind, he decided to leave aside the question of _France's_ power of help and instead went with his first argument. "Why couldn't we do it ourselves? What's wrong with just the two of us?" He glanced back at his brother. "We'd be perfectly fine, right Mattie?"

Canada gave the confident nation an uncertain look. "Um, well…" he trailed off hesitantly before mustering up some courage and finishing his thought. "N-no offence Al, but you've been telling people about me for over a hundred years and so far you only convinced Arthur. It's not really that high of a success rate."

America frowned defensively, opening his mouth to contradict Canada's candid statement when England cut-in.

"The lad's right, Alfred. You've had next to no success before, and it's unlikely that it will change now." The older nation spared the American a brief look of sympathy before turning his gaze back to the highway.

America stared at the Englishman unhappily. "But now there's two of us," he stated sullenly. "If you back me up when I go explain to the others…"

England grimaced as he glanced at a passing road-sign, quickly changing lines in preparation for the upcoming exit. "Alfred," he started evenly, tone reluctantly serious. "As much as I am loathed to admit, my word on this matter would not convince many nations. People seem to be of the mind that I often see or hear things that don't actually exist." He frowned irately. "They're completely barmy, of course, but we'd be hard pressed to change their mind."

America felt a small knot of amusement at England's sulking, and even allowed a smile to pull at his lips, but decided to focus on more pressing matters. They were nearly at France's house, and the western nation still had a few questions he wanted answered.

"Alright then," he complied, accepting England's logic. "So we need more people to help Mattie, but uh, why is Francis so special?"

From the back seat, Canada piped up. "I– I've also been wondering about this. And it might just be me… but it always seemed Francis was, um, very adamant about me not existing. Like, even more so than the other nations."

America nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and he was always giving me these sad looks when he thought I wouldn't notice." Blinking once, America suddenly seemed to think of something. After a quick moment, he turned once again towards the driver's seat, eyeing the still-silent Englishman ambiguously. "Wait a second, you didn't do some kind of Jedi mind-trick on him too, did you?"

England tore his gaze away from the road and gave America an offended scowl. "No I did not bloody mind-wipe him, you twat. Your case was a one-time exception."

America shot him a dubious look, but England had already turned back towards the road.

"And anyway," the British nation continued, deftly exiting the freeway and pulling on to a more rural street. "The only reason we're visiting the frog is because if it's there's _three_ of us affirming Matthew's existence, then we may stand a chance of convincing the others."

America was still skeptical, and he didn't want to drop the subject just yet, but England had just rounded the corner of France's road and America knew his opportunity for questions was rapidly fading.

"Okay fine," he acquiesced half-heartedly to England's previous statement. "I'll accept that three is better than two, but… something more is going on here, isn't it?"

He watched as the Englishman's eyed darted towards the rear-view mirror, obviously glancing at Canada in the back seat. England remained silent, however, as the car slowed down and gradually turned into France's wide driveway. The compact vehicle pulled up next to a bright blue Audi, gliding slowly before coming to a complete stop. The older nation went through the motions of putting the car into park and turning off the engine before finally turning to face the impatient American.

"Lad," he said, and America could immediately tell that the British nation was going to evade his question. "Although I myself am not too fond of this plan, I am going to ask you that you leave the convincing to me, alright? It will be difficult enough to persuade Francis without having you preaching his ear off about your brother." He gave a quick look back to Canada. "No offence, Matthew."

Canada raised his hands passively. "Um, none taken."

England nodded thankfully before returning his gaze to the displeased nation. "Alfred?" he asked as a means of confirmation.

America eyed England uncertainly. This so-called plan was dubious at best, and the younger nation wasn't at all thrilled by the idea of taking a back seat in the upcoming proceedings. But he knew that they couldn't spend forever sitting in France's driveway, arguing over each and every detail. France would probably pass by a window soon and wonder why England's car was parked in front of the house. And so, sighing unhappily, America leaned back against the passenger seat.

"I'm not promising anything," he retorted to the waiting Englishman, "but I'll stay quiet at first _if_ you tell me exactly what's going on here."

England looked at him for a long moment before turning away with a small sigh. After one last beat of silence, the older nation spoke, sounding suddenly very worn-down.

"Alfred, the reason why we've come to Francis is because he's always known the truth."

America blinked a couple of times, and behind him Canada frowned. But before either of the western nations could express their confusion, England continued.

"Except, of course, the truth has changed a little now, hasn't it? And that's going to be the difficult thing to explain." England closed his eyes. "I can only hope Francis won't pose too much of problem by being the pig-headed frog that he is."

Looking at the older nation for a moment, America tried to gather his thoughts. Finally, he settled with asking the most prominent question on his mind.

"Francis knows _what_ truth?"

England opened his eyes, peering at America expectantly, but remained quiet.

America returned the gaze unblinkingly, silently demanding an answer.

The silence lasted for a second longer than necessary, and then, as if coming to some kind of decision, the older nation broke eye contact.

"Unlike the other nations, who merely think that the representation of Canada does not exist," England finally stated, "Francis is quite aware that Matthew once lived." The British nation then turned to Canada, an almost apologetic expression on his face. "That said," he continued, "Francis truly and honestly believes that you are dead. And he's believed it since 1814."

America blinked, absorbing this new information as he watched England turn back from his dazed brother to look him in the eye. Before the younger nation could get out a word, England once again repeated his previous request.

"And this is why I want to be the one to tell Francis the truth. It would be simpler, and I likely stand a better chance at convincing the frog that his ex-colony is indeed alive."

America frowned, still not completely satisfied with England's reasoning. Raising his chin defiantly, he countered with a simple, "Why?"

"Because," England replied matter-of-factly, "I'm the one that told Francis in the first place that Matthew died. Now it should be my responsibility to put things straight."

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**Just a little end note here. It says 1814 up there because the War of 1812 - which is occurrence of Mattie's death - ended in 1814, so this is when Iggy would have visited France. Just thought I'd clear that up since I'm not sure how many of you are informed of the details of Canadian history. Alright, that's all. If you have the time, please leave a review. See you all again soon.**


	27. Affliction

**Hey all. Hope you've all being doing well... staying out of trouble, making the world a better place... you know, stuff like that. ;p**

**I'm back again, obviously; the plot must go on. And we're increasing the number of important characters too. I'll admit it's been a bit of a challenge, but I think I managed this to make this chapter not too bad. I've never really tried writing France's perspective before, so let me know how I did. Reviews are love.**

**And as always, thanks for all the kind feedback last chapter. I seriously do a little happy dance every fav, follow, or review I get. I don't care how many chapters this story ends up having, the warm glow you feel when you see random strangers enjoying your work will never fade.**

**So... go forth and read, I guess. Be sure to let me know your thoughts on France and his issues (couldn't think of a better word). **

**I still own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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France let the curtain fall back into place, stepping away from the large bay window and turning back towards the spacious sitting room.

_I could be mistaken,_ he thought, glancing back once again at the curtained window. _Maybe that isn't Angleterre's car sitting in my driveway. Maybe it's just some poor lost soul, looking for directions back to the freeway._

Except that the car had been sitting in his driveway for the past five minutes with no sign of anyone getting out and asking for directions.

That and the fact that the vehicle, which looked exactly like a certain Englishman's, had a British license plate.

France closed his eyes in defeat. _Non, c'est l'Angleterre, isn't it?_ He turned back to the innocent-looking drapes, which fluttered slightly from the air circulating through the room._ But_ _maybe I'll check just one last time… _

A few minutes prior, France had been strolling through the hallway adjacent to the lofty entryway, heading towards the kitchen with the full intention of cooking a quick yet delightful lunch before sitting down and getting to work on this week's provincial records. He had not been expecting visitors, and had surely not been anticipating the arrival of another fellow nation, and so when the Frenchman had heard the tell-tale sound of a vehicle pulling into his driveway, he had found himself somewhat surprised.

Curious, the European nation had deterred from his path to the kitchen and instead wandered into his sitting room. Pulling back the thin curtain from its place over the main window, France had leaned forward slightly only to train his eyes on the compact gray car parked in front of his house.

And despite his earlier misgivings, France couldn't deny that he had immediately recognized that car.

It was England's.

And once again, as France pulled back the light blue fabric, the blue-eyed nation found himself staring at a vehicle that undoubtedly belonged to a certain irritable nation.

Only this time, as France stared through the clear single-paned glass, the passenger door on the left side opened and a mop of blond hair ducked out of the compact-sized car. As the tall form turned around, France saw the high-noon sunlight glint off of a pair of unmistakable half-rimmed glasses.

"_Amérique_?" France muttered under his breath, staring at the younger nation in slight confusion. _What is he doing here…_ he thought, the question trailing off in his mind as he watched the American take a few steps back to the rear door, reaching forward to effortlessly open it. France frowned expectantly as the young nation held the door open, waiting for someone to exit the vehicle.

After a brief moment in which _no one_ appeared from the back seat, America closed the door and turned to face a perfectly empty space of air.

France blinked. _Um… did I miss something?_

But before he could ponder the strange behaviour any further, the distinctive sound of yet another car door closing was echoed from the driver's side. A second later, the anticipated Englishman approached the western nation from around the front of the car, joining the American beside the recently closed rear door.

_Ah, Angleterre, at least you're acting like you normally do,_ France thought, watching as the British nation seemingly lectured the younger man. _And now that I think about it,_ he continued in his mind, observing the gestures America made towards the empty space at his side, _dear Amérique is probably still going on about poor Mattieu. _France sighed sadly, thinking about the western brothers' unfortunate past. _He just won't accept the truth, will he?_

And then England turned to face the air at the American's left, nodding to the empty space in a conversational manner and raising his hand as if to offer a comforting pat on the arm.

The fact that the empty space didn't have arm to receive the comforting gesture didn't seem to deter the British nation, and France could just make out England's lips moving as he spoke to the air.

France's grip on the thin material of the curtain tightening fractionally as he blinked once, watching the event unfold before him in disbelief. After one last beat of expressionless incredulity where the scene before him did _not_ change back to normal, France let the abused fabric fall back into place.

_You know what,_ the French nation thought, turning away from the window with forced apathy, _I don't even want to know. _

Even though he _did_ know.

France knew that it was that _fictional_ Matthew out there, standing out in that empty space next to America and England. _Fictional_ because the representative of Canada didn't exist… no longer existed. Hadn't existed in over two hundred years because of an inconsequential war that had happened in the early 1800's. A simple dispute that had ended in the death of France's appropriated colony.

France closed his eyes, remembering the night that England had shown up on his doorstep, worn and tattered, looking every bit that he had been in a full-fledged war and not some minor conflict between disagreeing nations. France even recalled thinking that this impromptu visit would be a useless waste of his time, expecting a complaint about a certain ex-colony or perhaps even a demand for France's assistance.

No, instead what he had gotten from the listless Englishman was the grim news of a colony's demise and an account of the raw and dejected state of the remaining North American brother. And then, even before France had been able to fully process the information that has been thrown his way, he had received a hurried apology from the suddenly ardent British Empire followed by a desperate promise to handle the already deteriorating fallout.

Moments later, the shorter nation was gone, having abandoned France to deal with the news of his now ex-colony's unfortunate death.

Even before this shocking revelation, it hadn't been a pleasant time for the French nation – what with the fall of his Empire and the restoration of an unwanted Kingdom. And the addition of this ill-fated information had no helped in any way, especially with its unexpected nature and its partial deliverance. Even after all these years, France had still not been told the entire story. All he knew was that England blamed himself for Canada's death, even though France was almost certain that it had been America who had caused the incident.

But France found himself not laying blame on anyone. Death was a sure part of life, even for a nation, and there had been many wars that had led to the abolishment of fellow countries. France had been quite fond of the young Canada, but he still couldn't find it in himself to accuse either England or the newly independent America with the responsibility of the northern nation's death.

France had then been told later that America had no memory of the ordeal. At England's insistence, he had refrained from ever telling the boy the truth, instead settling with a repeated denial of Matthew Williams' existence.

_Oui, the country Canada exists_, France would tell the western power, _but this Mattieu you speak of does not. _

It had been difficult – keeping up the façade of ignorance – but over the years, France had reluctantly gotten used to it. It wasn't like any of the other nations had even remembered Canada to begin with, and so France had found joining them in their apathy towards the American's plight an almost natural instinct.

Even when the subject of Matthew Williams began to arise more and more often – as it had over the past century – France still maintained the falsehood that Matthew had _never_ actually existed.

He, alongside England, had always just assumed that America's obsession with Canada's existence was just the product of a broken mind defectively mended by England's own tamperings. That this Matthew America continuously tried to point out to other nations was nothing more than a hallucination. But despite the number of times America was told differently, he stubbornly refused to hear reason. France had suggested on more than one occasion that England should just allow the boy to remember what had transpired, but England would just pin him with a stare and reply with a simple "no".

Although, if the current scene outside of France's window suggested anything, it would be that for some reason unknown to France, England had suddenly renounced his previous convictions about Canada's non-being. It had quite looked like the Brit had been talking what must have been this invisible Matthew Williams America always proclaimed about.

Of course Matthew Williams was long dead, but apparently that no longer mattered.

France sighed heavily, not prepared for the situation he was certain was going to be knocking at his door any moment now. Though he had yet to definitively establish whether situation was indeed about the former representative of Canada, the French nation knew that if England and America had willingly decided to visit him… _together_… cooperatively, then it would not bode well for himself.

_Angleterre is supposed to be on MY side_, France thought petulantly, completely disregarding the fact that he didn't even enjoy the Englishman's presence. _And neither he nor Amérique should be visiting MOI. They don't even like me._

Wallowing in those thoughts, France finally allowed his eyes to open again, having had them closed since he had turned away from the large window. Standing alone in the sitting room, he directed his gaze out into the hall, just barely glimpsing the imposing oak door that acted as the entrance to his home.

And then he waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

In the lull of silence that had fallen, the solid sound of knuckles rapping on a wooden surface suddenly resonated through the house. France cringed, having whimsically hoped that the two nations had gotten back in their vehicle and left. He truly did not want to deal with this now – France did not comprehend why the matter of Canada couldn't just be left in peace.

As he turned to leave the sitting room, France thought back once again to how England had promised to handle everything. How England had assured him that America wouldn't remember anything. That the poor boy would move on with his life, free from the shadow of his brother's death. That Canada would just fade from history, so that even France wouldn't need to be burdened by the memory.

He knew that these promises hadn't been kept – that they had been impossible to keep in the first place. But at least England had tried. That meant something to France.

Frowning, he stopped in front of the wooden door, peering at it accusingly.

But now it seemed like the British nation had switched sides. And France was finding that he wasn't sure what should be his next step.

He had trouble enough handling America when the younger nation harassed him about being _forgetful_, and now there was potentially two nations to fend off about the same subject. France was used to following England's lead when it came to the subject of Canada, not being the one that was trying to set people straight.

The knocking continued again, sounding loud and grating in France's ears. The door seemed to shake with each rap. From the urgent strength behind the pounding, France had to assume that it was America assaulting the final defensive barrier between the French nation and his impending doom.

France steeled himself for the sure-to-come reprimands about his forgetfulness. It was America's typical path of criticism, and seeing as France was still uncertain as to what England's position in the imminent meeting would be, the Frenchman decided to at least prepared himself for what he did know would come.

But regardless of how many times America would complain to him, and no matter how much France denied remembering, the European nation _knew_ he would not _forget_.

Because France wasn't forgetful. He had never forgotten Canada.

But he truly wished America had.


	28. Evasion

**Man, am I ever stressing right now. So many projects, so many midterms, so little time. And yet I still manage to get this out. I really shouldn't have, though. Actually, I really shouldn't even be writing this author's note right now. What I actually need to be doing is making a website for some god-awful project that I've been trying to ignore. But alas, here I am. So I guess I might as well post this thing.**

**If you wouldn't mind reviewing, just to take my mind off of all the stress I'm feeling right now, it would be really appreciated. Seriously.**

**Anyway, I'm glad France was received fairly well. I wasn't too sure if I was writing him quite properly, but my worries (for the most part) are gone now. So thank you. I'm glad you're all still enjoying this story.**

**I (will always) own nothing.**

**Enjoy.**

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England cringed as another round of aggressive knocking assailed his ears. The young American beside him had barely waited five seconds after the first set of echoing thumps had faded before returning his tightened fist to the surface of the door. From the way the western nation rapped on the hardened oak, England would have thought the poor slab of wood had personally aggravated him.

Although England had to admit that the persistence was quite typical of the American. And at least it wasn't _his_ door that was in danger of being dented or broken.

Absentmindedly, England wondered why France was taking so long to answer. As he watched the door shake ominously with each solid knock, the Englishman came to the decision that the wooden surface would indeed start to splinter if the elusive French nation waited much longer.

Finally deciding to take pity on the oak door, England stepped forwards, placing an asserting hand on the American's shoulder. "Alfred, lad," he reprimanded lightly. "I think that's quite enough."

Alfred paused in his assault, but didn't lower his arm. "He hasn't answered yet," he pointed out impatiently.

"I'm well aware," England replied, tone flat. "But he won't _ever_ answer if you knock the bloody door down before he can get here."

America scowled at the Englishman's light jab, but eventually stepped aside to allow England closer access. Behind them both, Canada shuffled his feet awkwardly, obviously feeling entirely useless.

As England approached the freed door, he heard America grumble unhappily under his breath. The older nation then watched from the corner of his eye as the American hesitated slightly, standing behind the Englishman for one last moment before moving to join his brother at the base of the front steps.

England sighed, tuning his gaze back to the door, sizing up the surface before him. After a moment, he cleared his throat, going along with the instinct that told him France was likely standing directly behind the recently-battered door.

"Francis, you damn frog," he called out, knowing full well the Frenchman would likely hear every word from behind his feeble defence. "Open up already! You're being a horrible host."

There was a moment of heavy silence following his outburst before a distinctly familiar voice returned the call.

"No one's home!"

"Oh, please," England scoffed loudly. "That was the most pathetic attempt at avoidance I've ever seen."

From behind the door came the muffled sound of movement, followed once again by the heavily accented voice.

"It wasn't _pathetic_. I just don't want to let you in." There was a brief pause before the hidden Frenchman spoke again. "Now please go away."

England rolled his eyes in exasperation, feeling his patience quickly slip away. "If you don't open up this second," he threatened, "then I'll allow Alfred to finish what he'd been trying to do. I hope you don't have some kind of attachment to this particular door." Behind him, England heard America scoff lightly and mutter something to Canada, who then laughed softly.

The Englishman focused on the door in front of him when the brisk noise of hurried footsteps was heard before France's voice sounded from much closer behind the door.

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me." The brusqueness of England's voice hinted at his irritation as the British nation turned his head back towards the American. "Alfred," he called in a theatrical manner, raising his voice so it purposefully carried through to the stubborn Frenchman. "If you wouldn't mind removing this door-"

The sound of a brass handle twisting hastily stopped England's staged request, and the British nation returned his gaze to the entrance just as the door swung inward reveal a crossed expression and piercing blue eyes.

"I really hate you," France said without any real venom, peering from around the wooden slab of wood. He reluctantly allowed the door to open a little more, standing up straight as his eyes flickered to the American behind England. "And I don't particularly like _you_ either," he added over England's shoulder.

"The sentiment is returned with you," England replied, watching as France's gaze completely missed Canada as it swept the area in front of the door.

"Yes, well," France began, wary eyes back on England. "Seeing as we've agreed on that, why don't you do us both a favor and _leave_."

America stepped forwards. "Dude, listen to us, this is serious."

"Lad," England gently cut in firmly, an authoritative hand blocking the American's path. "You said you'd let me handle this." He eyed the now on-guard Frenchman. "So let me handle it."

America huffed, but stayed silent, and England could see him motion for Canada to move up next to him. England watched as France eyed the movement with a shrewd expression, eyes finally flickering back to the waiting Englishman before speaking.

"What if I don't want to be handled?" he asked cannily, body language still showing no indication of letting the trio inside. "What if I want you to _go away_?"

England frowned exasperatedly. "You've never seemed to have had a problem with impromptu visits in the past," he remarked offhandedly. "Why the sudden change of opinion?" He phrased as more of a jab than a question, but France answered all the same.

"Because I was to one doing the visiting, not the other way around," he said with a disgruntled expression. "And most definitely not hand-in-hand with an inane American and his delusions." He glanced to America added a quick, "Nothing personal, of course. Just stating the facts."

America harrumphed. "Yeah, well, your facts are wrong. Mattie _is_ real," he stated soundly, "and we're gonna prove it to you."

Canada shuffled his feet awkwardly, but he too also had a glint of determination in his eyes.

France blinked once at the American's claim, having both expected it and not expected it at the same time. Almost as if it were a routine, he immediately began to evade the subject. "Another time, perhaps?" he inquired elusively, "I do believe we've been over the subject of _Mattieu_ enough times as it is."

America opened his mouth, about to counter the Frenchman's statement, when England decided to try and take back control of this situation.

"Francis," the British nation declared in all seriousness, America gratefully falling silent. "You really do need to let us in. Alfred's right. Matthew really is–"

"No," France cut in sharply, shifting his weight such that he completely blocked the entrance. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Angleterre," his gaze quickly flickered over to America before returning to England, "but _you_ were the one that told me abou–"

"I was wrong."

England's words rung with a sense of finality, and behind him he could feel the two North Americans stiffen in surprise. They had obviously not expected England's sudden directness or his straightforward willingness to accept that he had been wrong.

Whatever France had been in the middle of saying trailed off into silence, the blond nation staring at England cautiously. "No you weren't," he replied evenly, as if testing the British nation. "It isn't possible. Everyone else may have truly forgotten, but I _know_ Mattieu is d–" France stopped suddenly, eyes once again flitting over to the blue-eyed American. "Right," he seemed to correct himself, voice lacking effort. "There never _was_ a Mattieu."

"I know the truth," America spoke up, voice uncharacteristically somber.

England grimaced at America's statement, still hearing the guilt laced through the younger nation's words. He was also somewhat surprised by the younger nation's forthrightness. Settling his gaze on the French nation, England watched as the Frenchman eyed America distrustfully.

"You know?" the French nation echoed dubiously. After a long moment, he continued. "No, you don't _know_. You've been mercifully oblivious for these past two centuries." He averted his gaze, staring off to his side, mind obviously occupied with other thoughts. "You _can't_ know."

England glanced back at America just as the younger nation spoke, his gaze still slightly clouded by guilt.

"He's dead," America said abruptly, eyes flickering over to his brother who returned the gaze despondently. "Well, _was_ dead," he corrected after a moment, giving Canada one last empathetic look before eyeing the disbelieving Frenchman. "I know what happened, alright? So stop pretending Mattie doesn't exist."

France looked at America for a long moment, watching how the American's expression remained serious and determined, not a hint of his usual boisterous attitude. Eventually, his eyes flitted back to England.

"What do you want?" the French nation finally asked, cutting straight to the point. "If Alfred is indeed aware of the truth, then he should know that Mattieu is long gone. There's nothing more to be done." He paused briefly, looking remorseful though his eyes still held the reluctant acknowledgement of truth. "Is it too much to ask that I be left alone?"

"Francis," England began, trying to make his voice as sincere as possible despite the unwelcomed expression on the Frenchman's face. "I know you don't like to talk about this, especially with me, but can you please let us in? There's something we need to tell you."

France shot England a surprisingly dirty look. "He was my colony, _Angleterre_," he said with a bitter edge to his words, already backing back into the house. "And _you_... you took him away from me. You let him _die_. I _do not_ want to talk about this with _you_ nor your delusional accomplishment of a nation." His hand gestured curtly to America before returning to his side, a harsh sigh escaping through his lips. "Please, leave."

France went to close the door without another word, not even waiting for either of the two nations outside to speak. As England stood there, torn about what action to take, he felt something brush past him in the direction of the retreating Frenchman.

To his great surprise, he saw Canada hastily take the final step forward and put his hands up to stop the rapidly closing door, a look of desperation on his face.

"Please, don't leave yet," the northern nation said, voice wavering slightly as he held his own firmly against the wooden surface, effectively slowing France's attempt in shutting the door. "_Please_."

England watched in astonishment as France's movements suddenly stopped, the Canadian impeding the Frenchman and his goal to close that final barrier. The blue-eyed nation stared at the oaken surface with shocked confusion, completely unaware of the pleading Canadian behind it. His eyes then flickered indecisively towards the silent nations on the other side of the door's threshold.

"What…" he exhaled silently, hand still pressed flat against the slab of wood. His eyes briefly flitted around the door's immediate area, completely passing over Canada before a frown overtook his features. Staring back at the still door, a breath of exertion escaped through his lips as he suddenly put more force behind his push.

But Canada refused to back down, the door moving only the smallest amounts before it once again struggled to a stop. The Canadian's thin arms shook with the effort as he once again looked back up at the distressed Frenchman.

"I– I'm sorry," Canada stammered as France quickly stopped his second attempt, eyeing first the door and then the pair of nations outside it with wary uncertainty. Canada took a deep breath as he continued. "I know you can't– I just… I'm sorry I don't remember being your colony."

England watched as the Canadian closed his eyes, shrugging off America's outstretched hand when the elder brother took a comforting step forwards. Instead, the northern nation sighed forlornly, shoulders hunched in and arms wrapped around his torso.

"Can you tell him," Canada mumbled, glancing up through his messy bangs at the clearly unsettled Frenchman. "That I'm sorry about what happened to him. That I'm sorry I... that I died. That I wish I could remember being his colony."

America gave his brother a surprised look, though when the Canadian turned to face him, he made an effort to smile, the expression pulling at his lips. "Hey Mattie," he said, and England could see France's eyes narrow in doubtful recognition. "Just wait until Franny here can see ya' for himself, then you can tell him whatever you want." There was a pause before America continued. "We're gonna make this work, 'kay bro?"

Although Canada's sorrowful expression didn't change, he did seem to be a little relieved, a grateful glint in his eyes as he accepted America's second effort at a comforting hand on the shoulder. England watched the exchange for a moment before shifting his gaze over to France. Luckily, the Frenchman had not used this opportunity to escape, instead he seemed occupied with eyeing America and the space surrounding him cautiously. Almost as if he sensed England's scrutiny, the French nation pulled his gaze away from the younger nation and faced the Englishman with a guarded, questioning expression.

"What is going on here?" he asked jadedly, hands having left the recently released door and instead crossing defensively over his chest. "You didn't _magic_ my door, did you?" Not even waiting for an answer, he plowed forward with his words, eyes flickering over briefly to the currently occupied American. "And what's this about me _seeing_ Mattieu. It's not possible to _see_ a _dead_ person…" he trailed off, taking in England's serious appearance.

"Francis," England began, "perhaps now would be a good time to let us in."

France gritted his teeth, not single hint of his typically flippant attitude apparent in his expression. England knew from previous experiences that the Frenchman had more layers than just his usual frivolous mannerisms, but this was the first time he had seen such hesitant conflict in France's eyes. Finally, after what seemed like a long moment, France's defiance caved into to reluctant acquiescence.

"I hope there is a good reason for all of this, Arthur," France said, voice lackluster. England, recognizing the switch from national title to personal name, knew that the fellow European had at least consented to hear them out. His assumption was confirmed when the French nation took a step back into his house, demeanour now grudgingly inviting instead of resistant.

Both America and Canada breathed sighs of relief, and England was tempted to do the same. This had not nearly gone over as smooth as he had hoped, and they had still not even managed to explain anything yet. Stepping forward, ahead of the two North Americans, he pinned France with a vaguely appreciative stare.

"Thank you," he said, voice actually revealing his sincerity. "And I promise you, there is indeed a good reason for this." England looked over his shoulder at the two brothers, eyes lingering slightly on Canada before returning to the still cautious Frenchman. "Matthew isn't dead," he declared, hoping the reiteration of the frank revelation wouldn't be counter-productive in convincing the uncharacteristically stubborn Frenchman. "At least, he hasn't been dead these past one hundred and forty-five years. And though you probably don't believe it, he _is_ standing right here, with us."

France blinked once, expression completely blank. England frowned, knowing he would have to tread carefully now or else risk losing the Frenchman entirely. The British nation opened his mouth, fully intending to deliver a better, more placid explanation.

But before he had the chance to continue, America spoke up, adding his own reckless revelation.

"And dude," he proclaimed, heedless of England's wide-eyed alarm. "We're totally gonna make you be able to see him again." And then without further ado, America marched into France's house, dragging an apologetic, stammering Canadian behind him.

England took one look at France's wholly overwhelmed expression before shrugging slightly in reluctant acceptance. "Well, he _is_ right, you know." Taking one last moment to settle his thoughts, England walked through the open doorway, giving the distressed Frenchman a slightly sympathetic look.

This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.


	29. Apperception

**Hmm, new fanfiction design is new. Not quite sure what I think of it yet. I kind of liked the old one. Oh well.**

**So I struggled to get this out. The amount of school work I have to do could probably be considered lethal. I'm kind of flailing about uselessly, trying to get everything done. So yeah, apologies for the lateness of this chapter, and in all honesty you're probably going to have to wait a bit before the next update as well. Exams are just around the corner, so I'll have to see how much time I can get to write...  
**

**That aside, I kinda like this chapter. The beginning is a bit weak (I think), but then the dialogue starts. Apparently the characters all had a lot of important stuff to say. Hopefully you all like it. :)**

**And oh my goodness, 400 reviews? Seriously? Wow. That's amazing. You guys are awesome. I love every single one of you. Thank you so, so much.**

**So I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Let me know what you think (even a simple 'nice chapter, please update' is totally appreciated).**

**Enjoy.**

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Canada ventured a glance out of the large bay-view window that illuminated France's spacious sitting room. Allowing his thoughts to wander, he contemplated the situation that he was in. He couldn't deny that it was practically a mirror of the one that happened three days ago. In fact, Canada could almost pretend they were back at England's house, that he was hearing the words that were currently floating around the room for the first time. It was a little weird, the way the truth of Canada's own existence was being explained for the second time in less than a week. If nothing else, the northern nation supposed as he continued to stare out of the window, this time the event was considerably less stressful.

Frowning slightly, he let his eyes roam back towards the room's occupants, taking in everyone's appearance. His gaze settled on one person in specific, and Canada reckoned that perhaps he should change his decision on that last thought.

This time the conversation regarding his existence was indeed less stressful. Less stressful for himself. And likely for America. Perhaps even for England.

But France, on the other hand, looked so stressed that he nearly vibrated from restrained emotions. The armrests of his chair practically groaned in protest from his white-knuckled grip and his foot tapped consistently against the carpeted floor.

It wasn't that the French nation was _angry_ or _upset_ or _scared_ – which had all been traits America had seemed to portray those few days ago. No, instead it was more like the Frenchman had fallen into a state of overwhelmed disbelief.

"But a nation can't just _come back_ to life. It doesn't work that way." France's wide eyes glared purposefully at England, movements unnaturally stiff.

England sighed, leaning forward in his cushioned seat so that he could rest his chin on his propped up hand. "We've told you, you bloody frog," he said with curt tilt of his head towards the Frenchman's direction. "Matthew has not _come_ _back_ to life. He is a _new_ representative born in–"

"1867, yes, I've heard," France cut-in austerely, finishing the sentence. "And now you're saying Mattieu just _materialized_ out of thin air the moment his country gained independence? It… it just doesn't happen like that."

"I'm baffled by your obstinate refusal to just _accept_ what we're saying to you," England bit out, giving France an exasperated look. "And yes, I'm saying Matthew just appeared out of thin air. Is that not how we _all_ came into existence?"

Canada gave a light sigh, watching the exchange happen with a vague sense of interest. Part of his attention was also directed towards America, who had recently fallen silent after repetitively and futilely interjecting his own ideas and suggestions into the conversation. Although his brother seemed outwardly calm, Canada could see a muscle working at his jaw and a slight narrowing of his eyes, showing at the American nation was actually growing rather fed up with France's uncharacteristically stubborn defiance.

"But you see," France spoke-up, refuting England's last statement. "We all came into existence with the _land_. We gained consciousness gradually as the territory and people slowly developed into a nation." He risked a quick glance at the chair Canada sat in, eyes roving over the area dubiously. "We did not just pop-up as a full-fledged, mature representative over the period of a _single _day."

"You know as well as I do that it _can_ happen like that," England countered, looking progressively irritated as the argument continued. "Or do you forget what happened with the Holy Roman Empire and Germany?" He sat back in his seat, still looking at the cynical Frenchman. "In fact, that incident nearly perfectly mirrors Matthew's case, except for the difference of our lad dying."

"Then _why_ is it," France immediately disputed, "that no one can _see_ this _new_ Mattieu? Everyone can see Germany. You say it's because Mattieu doesn't have a body, but how can someone _exist_ like that? _C'est impossible._"

The little spark of hope that England's latest argument would have convinced France fizzled away from the Canadian as the French nation continued to spew out his denials, a slightly frantic air showing through the his ever present pessimism. It was like the Frenchman was almost… _afraid_ of believing Canada was real. The thought hurt a little more than Canada had expected, and something must have shown on his face since America suddenly gave him this protectively worried expression, a silent question showing in the way he titled his head. Canada just answered with a quietly sad look, holding his brother's gaze for a moment before shifting in his seat and allowing his eyes to focus back on France and England. Neither seemed ready to stop arguing, and the later was already refuting the Frenchman's continued oppositions.

"Of course it's not impossible," England scoffed, "since he's _alive_ and _present_ with us right now. If you would just give us a chance, you bloody frog, we could _prove_ to you that this is the truth." He gave the French nation a frustrated look. "It actually amazes me that you haven't already accepted it. You experienced first-hand Matthew's ability to interact with objects at your front door only an hour ago. Why are you still this bloody stubborn?"

France crossed his arms in front of his chest guardedly. "For all I know, it could have been you _magic_ nonsense that stopped the door from moving. If this Mattieu of yours does not have a body, then how could he possibly–"

Suddenly America was standing up, facing France with barely concealed anger. "Stop talking as if Mattie doesn't exist!" he yelled at the startled Frenchman, voice brimming with frustration. "He's sitting right here, ya' know?" His arm swept vaguely towards Canada's direction, eyes still focused solely on France. "But no, you just continue to sit there, refusing to even _consider_ the idea that we could be telling you the truth. What the hell is wrong with you!?"

Canada watched as silence enveloped the room, seeing his own stunned expression mirrored on the two European nations' faces. He had known America was getting exasperated with the Frenchman, but he hadn't expected him to just suddenly snap at the other nation like that.

England seemed to recover from the shock first, his hands raised up in an attempt to calm the still volatile American. "Alfred… lad…"

But then France was standing up too, blue-eyes trained on an equally intense pair. "What is wrong with _moi_?" France asked harshly, ignoring England's efforts to regain peace. "You all just _barge_ into my house making irrational claims and you want to know what's _wrong_?" He nearly spat the words at America, gaze purposefully staying away from the chair Canada occupied. "I. Have. _Mourned_," he articulated, voiced abruptly dropping into bitter regret. "Two hundred years ago I mourned the loss of a child that was _stolen_ from me. Two hundred years ago I _grieved_ for this child when I was told he had _died_." France's eyes suddenly tore themselves away from America's and the ground became the sole object of his scrutiny. "There was nothing I could do. By the time I was told it had happened it was _far_ too late." His gaze focused back on America. "But I have _moved on_. I've accepted what happened. What I can't understand is why _you_ haven't."

Canada sat silently in his seat, feeling a guilt he had no control over eat away at his insides. He knew nothing of France except the few times he had heard him talk to other nations, or the moments where he had listened to others converse about the French nation. Either way, Canada had no memories of the French nation which could originate from his own experiences. It was the other Matthew, the one that died, that had shared those moments – the feeling of being a colony – and Canada felt something akin to bitter longing that he had missed out on that opportunity.

America's earlier intensity had dampened considerably after France's declaration, his eyes now showing a mixture of guilt and empathy instead of frustration. In the silent wake of those last words, which France had phrased almost like a question, America took another step forward, demeanour subdued.

"Maybe it's because we're telling the truth," he said, voice low, in answer to the Frenchman's question. "Maybe you should give us a chance to prove it."

France's gaze hovered on America for another moment before his focused shifted to the chair where Canada sat, eyes looking straight through the northern nation. "But the one I knew…" he nearly whispered.

"Matthew is who he is." America turned to face Canada, giving his brother a small smile, and Canada felt his lips twitch upwards in return. "I don't care what happened or what changed, he's still my bro and that's what should matter." The American faced France again. "Why won't you just accept that?"

The Frenchman's stare returned to America, but he stayed silent, only a faintly pained expression on his face.

This time it was England who spoke up, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're afraid, aren't you?" he asked perceptively, not a single trace of contempt in his voice. "You're afraid because you believed this entire time that Matthew didn't exist." No, instead England's words rang with what sounded like empathetic understanding. "These past one hundred and forty-five years you've perhaps said or done things that could have hurt Matthew. You've constantly denied his existence, refused to believe that he could see or hear you, and now you're afraid that by accepting you were wrong this entire time that Matthew might hold those years against you." England sighed quietly, and Canada could tell the older nation was speaking as much from personal experience as he was from intuitive suppositions on France. "You don't want to see him hate you for every single time you didn't believe he was standing _right there_."

In the silence that followed Canada could see France's nearly haunted expression reflect the truth. The words that England had said, the meaning they held, was the reality the European found himself in.

Without really even realizing what he was doing, Canada felt his mouth start to move, hesitant words coming forth. "I don't… I don't hate anyone. I could never… I don't want anyone to be afraid. Not of me. I don't hate you." He looked at France, though he knew the older nation would be completely oblivious to his words. Canada then found his gaze drawn to England, the smaller European watching him with an indescribable expression. "I never e-even _considered_ hating anyone. But you… you thought I'd hold it against you? I…" Canada felt the words and feelings mix together, jumbling in his mind to the point he didn't even know what he wanted to say anyone. Seeing the still pained look in the Frenchman's eyes, he instead found himself settling for an apology. "I'm sorry," he said, wishing that France could hear him. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to be afraid, _please _don't be afraid."

America had turned around to face Canada the moment the younger brother had started speaking, taking a step towards him as the northern nation began apologizing. "Mattie…" he muttered, but let whatever it was he was about to say trail off as England started speaking, the older nation's voice conveying his sincerity.

"Matthew, lad, you shouldn't be the one apologizing," he stated, both North American brothers listening to his words. "This is not your fault; it never _has_ been your fault." Even France seemed to be listening now, having momentarily shaken off his previously tormented expression. "_We_ should be the ones apologizing – all three of us. Not you."

America managed to give him a light smile, a bit of his old lightheartedness seeping back into his appearance. "Yeah dude. You've done nothing wrong." He took the last few steps back to his abandoned chair and flopped down in it gracelessly. "You just got born in some really crappy circumstances. So yeah, no saying sorry, that's reserved for us."

Canada felt a small sense of relief flood through veins, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. It amazed him, suddenly, how quickly America had always been able to dispel his worry. And even England now was doing his part to reassure the timid Canadian nation. He had support, he had friends. This thought left him a little overwhelmed.

"Mattieu is still keeping up with his insistent apologizing, it seems." The voice was even and acquiescent, a hint of reminiscent compassion interwoven between the words. Canada found his gaze immediately drawn to France, noting how his dejected expression was all but gone. "He was always so tentative, trying to make sure everyone was happy…"

"Yeah, he's pretty much the same now," America added, giving France a gauging look. "He… he was saying sorry to you, ya' know. He wants you to know he would never hate you." America gave Canada a quick look, but the northern brother's eyes were still trained on the Frenchman.

France's airy laugh was so small and breathy it could have been only a sigh. "Of course he'd say that. That's completely like him…" The Frenchman's eyes then slowly focused on Canada's chair, and Canada was once again subjected to the experience of being looked _at_ but not actually s_een_. "It's been a very long time since I've seen him, he… he's probably grown a bit," France mumbled quietly, eyes flickering uselessly around the area where Canada sat.

"You could see him for yourself, you know?" America said softly, unexpectedly sensitive to the situation. "That's why we're here. So you can see Mattie again."

Canada looked down at lap, hands clasped tightly together. He didn't want to hear another rejection from the Frenchman.

From somewhere near the middle of the room came the sound France moving around, likely going to sit down again. And then, after another moment of prolonged silence, Canada heard the nation speak.

"How?" The single word, spoken in a way that wasn't angry, or refuting, or despondent, rang with the simple desire to know the answer. If anything, it contained a sense of anticipation.

France wanted to see him. France wanted to see Canada.

Canada's head shot up, eyes immediately trained on the French nation, a hopeful undercurrent suddenly weaving through his thoughts. His hope was only amplified by France's expression, a new sort of resolution gleaming in the blue gaze.

"How do I see Mattieu?" the Frenchman continued, eyes suddenly flickering over to England. "What exactly do I need to do?"

_The land_… Canada blinked once, starting at the French nation, thoughts having already jumped ahead. _If we exchange land then he'll see me_.

"You need to have contact with his land," England answered calmly, a slight tone of relief in his voice. "As long as you share borders, you'll be able to interact with Matthew's physical existence."

Canada's mind raced, already trying to decide what portion of his territory he could give up. Part of him rebelled against the idea of detaching yet another part of his land – his own _self_ – but the desire to be _seen_ easily pushed past it.

Before Canada's thoughts could progress any further, England spoke up again, effectively drawing the northern nation's attention away from his thinking.

"I currently possess roughly 100 kilometers squared of land within Matthew's country. This is why I can see him." England closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep, steady breath. "I personally think this is more than enough land. So I'm going to split it. With you." His eyes opened, focusing on the surprised Frenchman. "Then you should be able to see Matthew."

Canada sat there, stunned. Looking across the space of the sitting room, his eyes focused on an equally surprised Frenchman. Canada had been fully prepared to go through the transfer process with France. He hadn't even considered the idea that England would volunteer for it. That the British nation would willingly offer to surrender a piece of his recently obtained Canadian territory to another nation. But it made sense, now that he thought about it. The theory would be the same. They would still share the borders between their land.

_I won't have to give up another portion of myself_, Canada thought, a sensation of grateful relief coursing through him. Worry he hadn't known he was feeling began to dissipate.

"And this will work?" France was sitting at the edge of his seat, staring at England intently.

There was a single, heavy moment of silence before England replied, voice resolute and confident.

"Yes. It will." A single pause before another confirmation came from the Englishman's lips. "We're going to make it work."


	30. Coercion

**I'm crying, seriously (okay, no, not seriously, but I could be). 'Cause this has been _painful_. Argh. I'm not happy with the chapter at all, it's dry and kinda confusing and mergh, I don't know, it just doesn't sit well with me. It has a lot of head-canon concepts that needed to be talked about, but that doesn't make me happy about it. So I'm sorry if you find it hard to swallow.**

**But in other news, an update! Yay. School's been though, and on top of that I've found myself practically co-authoring _The United States of Nothing_ since my sister was have an extremely difficult time writing it, but I managed to get this up. It's a long chapter too, 1000 words longer than any other in this story. So hopefully you can be happy about that.**

**As always, it'd make my day if you could leave a little feedback. You have no idea what a review can do to a person, especially in the midst of exam season. And I truly love all you people, you continue to amaze me with your kind words and support. This story is almost done guys, we've nearly made it through.**

**So, on a side note, I've brought forth an idea in this chapter that was suggested to me a number of chapters ago by a reviewer and I can't, for the life of me, remember exactly who it was (I have three people in mind). But I just want to say thank you for the concept, and I hope I've done no disrespect by using it here in this context. (I love you.)**

**I've never really owned anything, at all.**

**Enjoy.**

**[EDIT: April 11th 2013 (Moved around some of the arguments. Big thanks to Velgamidragon for the ideas that led to this change.)]**

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America peered into the back of the fridge, pushing aside a jar of suspicious looking pickles as he searched one last time for something edible. All he came across, however, was a carton of milk, a container of yellowish mustard-looking substance, and a bag of celery. He eyed the celery for a moment, considering his options, before standing straight and closing the refrigerator door with a grimace.

Maybe he'd just ask France or Canada to make something for him. They wouldn't mind, right? They could even cook together, make it some kind of bonding experience or reunited family activity.

Right, it could work. And then America would have something to eat. A damn good plan, if America didn't say so himself.

With that in mind, the blue-eyed nation turned away from the white surface of the fridge door and headed towards the kitchen's wide doorway, a pleased smile on his face. As he passed through the opening, large strides taking him swiftly down the hall, the sound of vibrant conversation quickly drifted into hearing. The words rapidly became clearer, and America could distinctly make out a heavily accented voice speaking in equal parts French and English alongside a quieter, slightly more refrained voice replying with seldom heard enthusiasm.

The American nation paused in the entryway to the spacious sitting room, the area now fully illuminated from the waning brightness of the afternoon sun. Leaning against the wooden frame, he watched amusedly for a moment as his brother answered the latest question in rapid-fire French, hands gesturing excitedly in support of his words.

England was the first one to notice America lurking in the doorway, head coming up from the pages of a book he had arbitrarily chosen off of France's bookshelf.

"Well you're back quickly." The Englishman closed the book and placed it on the table to his left. "Food truly stands no chance in your presence."

"Oh, haha, funny," America replied, stepping into the room, hand coming up to scratch the back of his head in a sheepish manner. "And actually no, all Franny has in his kitchen was _ingredients_. Nothing I can make use of." He grumbled slightly as he rejoined the group's vicinity. "I just wanted a bag of chips or something."

England raised one brow, unimpressed, but it was Canada that spoke up.

"Al, guess what!" The northern nation had turned around eagerly when America approached them, and the words he spoke held a sort of breathless enthusiasm. "Francis and I have been talking about our countries' relations. We're going to continue to the joint action plan from 2006 and even make it _stronger_. Isn't that great?"

America wasn't quite sure what the action plan thing was, but he grinned widely and nodded his head, just content that his brother was happy. "Yeah, that is great Mattie. Joint action plan-y things are good." It was the mere fact that Canada was now _able_ to talk politics and what-not with other nations that caused a surge of happiness in the American. His brother was thrilled. America only hoped that soon this could be done with all the rest of the nations.

Canada grinned back at him, though he did roll his eyes slightly at America's casual term for his growing relations with France. The aforementioned nation also smiled slightly, leaning forwards in his seat to rest his chin on a propped up hand.

"_T'est si nonchalant, Amérique_," France said smoothly, words rolling off his tongue in a flippant manner. "One of these days you're going to have to acquaint yourself with these kinds of political affairs."

America made sure to school his face in an acceptable look of indignation, when truthfully he was just relieved that France seemed wholly back to normal. The distress and pain from earlier had long left the older nation's expression, and even the remnants of cautious surprise had all but disappeared. America smiled to himself as he briefly thought back to the events of the past hour. He easily remembered the way France had sat in wide-eyed silence, blue gaze completely entranced by a very self-conscious looking Canadian. The reunion had been touching, even though Canada truly had no previous memory of the Frenchman. And America could admit that it had been rather nice that his brother hadn't abruptly burst into tears like last time. _All in all_, America considered, _it went about as well as I expected it could go. Even ol' Artie couldn't ruin the moment with his grumbling about 'no bloody appreciation'._ Bringing his thoughts back to the subject at hand, America tilted his head in France's direction.

"Yeah, well, my political affair stuff is perfectly _fine_, thanks," he pouted with an adequate amount of vexation. "And what's _really_ important here is that _one_," he held up a finger as he numbered off his thoughts, "I'm hungry, and _two_," another finger came up, "we need to figure out what we're gonna do next." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But back to number one. Food. You two should totally cook lunch or supper or dinner or whatever."

"Next?" France's voice was curt, an undercurrent of genuine curiosity present in the single word. "What do you mean _next_? There's something to do next?"

America huffed loudly. "Yeah, there is dude. As soon as I get some food we're gonna come up with a way so that _everyone_ can see Mattie."

Canada grimaced awkwardly. "Um, Al… we don't really–"

"Yes, we do." America eyes shifted to his brother, a defiant look showing through his stare. "We've already gone over this, bro. You _deserve_ to be seen."

"Well… I suppose…" Canada trailed off, obviously noting the attention he had from the three sets of eyes. "B-but I don't want to be a _burden_ on you or anything. I can manage by myself… I think." His previously buoyant attitude faded slightly.

"Matthew, lad," England rebuked gently, finally speaking up. "There is no possible way we are going to leave you alone in this. So don't even think to say you're being a burden." The British nation huffed good-naturedly. "Just like Alfred said, you deserve to be seen, and we'll do our best to help you."

Canada frowned slightly, though there was a grateful glint in his eyes. "If you're sure…"

"Yeah dude," America smiled at his brother. "Of course we're sure. We've come this far, haven't we? And now we got Franny with us. We're gonna do fine."

France seemed a little uncertain, shifting in his chair slightly as he glanced around at the three nations near him. "I'm certainly willing to be of assistance, but… you want us to get the entire _world_ to be able to see Mattieu?"

"Well of course," England spoke up in response to France's question, casting his eyes towards America and Canada before returning them to the French nation. "It would only be what the lad rightly deserves, yes? Matthew should have the ability to speak up in conferences to represent his nation. He's been forcedly silent for far too long."

Canada bit his lips anxiously. "You guys really don't have to–"

"Yes we do." America gave his brother a serious look.

Canada shifted his gaze to France. "It's just I know you're hesitant about it and I don't want to–"

"No, no, they're right," France cut-in before Canada could finish his latest complaint, an awkward smile on his face as he obviously tried his hand at being paternal. "I… we'll help you through this. We're like _famille, non_? Even if you're not– if you don't remember…" A pained expression crossed France's face before it was covered up by another pacifying smile. "Right, well, we're here for you, Mattieu."

"Totally man," America added rapidly, trying to help France's efforts. He gave the older nation a brief look of grateful sympathy before returning his gaze to a vulnerable looking Canadian. "You're stuck with us." He grinned light-heartedly, finally moving around the seats to slump back in his abandoned chair. "All we really need to figure out is how we're gonna make everyone else see you," he continued, legs splayed haphazardly out before him as he leaned back in the seat. "Because there ain't no way you're gonna keep tearing off bits of yourself to give to other people."

Canada blinked a few times, looking around at his impromptu circle of support. "B-but how else am I going to get people to see me? It's the only solution we've got."

"We'll find something," America replied vaguely, a small frown pulling at his face. _Though I'm not really getting' any ideas here._

"I don't care about myself, really," Matthew said, eyes lowered self-consciously. "I'll give up pieces of my land, if that's what it takes. It doesn't affect you guys, and I can handle whatever repercussions happen."

America swallowed heavily, not liking the way his brother was talking. It was as if Canada didn't have any self-concern, putting others way before his own protection. It wasn't a safe way of thinking.

England seemed to echo these thoughts, giving Canada a serious look.

"Matthew," he articulated carefully, making sure to get the Canadian's full attention before continuing. "Don't start thinking your nation and land are unimportant. It's unhealthy. You can't just believe that separating fragments of your country will solve this issue."

Canada looked slightly surprised, but not entirely convinced. "But it _will_ solve it," he tried arguing defensively, an affronted expression surfacing on his features.

"You have an alarmingly little amount of self-concern," England claimed, voice was oddly intense. "You will _endanger_ yourself if you keep this up. There's such a thing as too much selflessness."

America decided to jump in, hoping to back-up England's words. He didn't like the way his brother was arguing this point, and wanted to make sure Canada didn't do something dangerous just so that he could be seen.

"Yeah Mattie, you gotta listen to us," he spoke up before Canada had a chance to open his mouth. "We'll figure something out, I promise. Just please don't tear yourself up over this, 'kay? You're my bro and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Canada's brow furrowed, but he remained silent, staring at first America and then England for a long time before finally giving a small, curt nod of the head. There was a vague look of reluctant compliance in his eyes, but America also noticed that the northern nation still wasn't completely accepting their arguments.

"It's the land that allows others to see you, yes?" France spoke for the first time in a while, a look of uncharacteristic concentration on his face. "When you were explaining it before," he turned his gaze to England, "all you said is that there needs to be a connection of land. So what about embassy land?"

America blinked a few times, letting out a confused, "huh?" which he heard echoed a little more quietly by his brother.

_Embassy land?_ He found himself thinking, his gaze almost unconsciously looking towards England for clarification. _Like with them Ambassador people. But isn't that land…_

"But isn't that technically the property of the host country?" England countered at France's inquiring gaze, having partially vocalized America's thoughts. "And we nations wouldn't have direct influence over its association since it's so governmentally dependent."

"Well yes," France replied frankly, leaning in his chair towards England. "But embassy land is governed by foreign rules, and if we could make the actual land ownership foreign as well…"

America frowned as he struggled to follow the conversation, thoughts shifting slightly as he pondered the subject at hand. _Would embassy land really work? I mean, if we could somehow make it officially property of the… uh… foreign countries. It's possible, maybe. We could make it work._

America noticed Canada was biting his bottom lip hesitantly, frowning slightly in what could be called concentration. "I… it's too uncertain," he finally said, jumping a little when he was once again the center of attention. "Uh, I mean," he fumbled, fidgeting under the three sets of eyes. "The embassy land… it just seems like a long shot." His voice lowered then, continuing in a much softer tone. "It would j-just be easier to give over bits of land, you know, since w-we know it works."

_Ah, not cool_, America found himself thinking, staring at his brother worriedly. _He's still thinking about chopping himself up. I gotta do something about this._

"Hey Mattie," he chimed in forced indifference, hoping to sound easy-going and not exceedingly anxious. "Why don't we try and give this embassy land thing a go, ya' never know, it could work." He hesitated for a moment, lost as to what to say next. "I mean, I don't really know what the plan is, exactly." He looked at France and England momentarily, expression hinting at his doubt, but quickly returned his gaze to Canada. "But we should definitely try it before we… before you… before anything else," he ended weakly, internally cringing at the northern nation's look of poorly concealed skepticism.

"But Al–"

"No, he's exactly right," England cut-in, and much to America's relief, Canada's arguments silenced. The discontented nation stared at them, reluctantly silent. England took a breath before continuing, sounding almost patronizing. "You need to consider this the way we're seeing it. You can't very well go and give your land away to all 200 or so countries in the world, just so that you can be seen." Canada looked like he was about to protest, but England continued."Matthew, at that rate, you'd be reduced to nothing more than a piece of land the size of one of your smaller you could hardly call yourself Canada after all that, whatwith all your land being multi-national property." Everyone was silent now, and still England spoke on, seeming to come up with more and more notions regarding the land-exchange. "Not to mention the fact that you would eventually end up with the issue of giving _people_ away._Your_ people," he proclaimed logically. "And Francis' idea of embassy land could be exactly what we're looking for. Small pinpoints of multi-national territory that only need the right push to become foreign land." He cast his gaze towards France, who looked somewhat taken aback, staring at England in vague surprise.

"Really?" France asked incredulously after a moment of prolonged silence. "_You_ think I'm _right_, of all people–" He stopped short, and America noticed the Frenchman had caught England's pointed glare. "Uh… yes, of course I'm right," he corrected hastily, an abrupt smile gracing his features as he looked at Canada in what America assumed was an attempt at being supportive. "Just as _Angleterre_ has said, my idea could very well be right. So no need to worry, _mon chèr_, we're not going to let you reduce yourself to a _petite_ expanse of country. We're here to help."

Canada seemed to shake himself from a stupor, and America noticed unhappily that he still didn't seem entirely convinced. "I appreciate your support," the northern nation said slowly, looking at the nations around him sincerely. "Really, I do. But… and well, I don't mean to sound pessimistic," he stated, eyes lowered as he spoke. "But you have to admit, the idea just doesn't sound too strong of an idea. What if I just…"

"You haven't even given it a chance, Mattieu," France retorted immediately, albeit still somewhat uncertain, effectively preventing Canada from finishing the vague sentence. "All that's needed is–"

"It's too unreliable," Canada voiced abruptly, a slight frown now marring his feature. He easily cut in to France's objection, much to America's surprise. "I-I'm sorry. It's just, why should we chance it when we already know that what we've been doing works?" the northern nation continued, face bearing a faintly apologetic look. "I know you're, uh, worried for me," Canada admitted in a small voice, looking down abashedly as if he found it hard to believe anyone could be worried for _him_. "But the way I see it, you can all see me now, and I'm not any worse off other than missing a little bit of land. A little more shouldn't hurt me, and then the others would be able to see me…" He looked up suddenly, eyes briefly passing over America's worried expression apologetically before landing on England. "And I know you said that thing about the people and there being too many nations to give land to, but… but what if I just settle for the G8 at first, and then go from there. Wouldn't that be safe?" He delivered that final statement like a door closing, an effective end to the arguments.

France visibly deflated, all previous gusto seeming to leave him. He had tried to convince his ex-colony, and he had failed. America appreciated the effort, though he found his gaze leaving the defeated Frenchman, looking once again over to England, foolishly hoping the man would revive the dying argument. But England merely grimaced morosely, looking as if he inherently believed Canada's words.

_I'm not going to let it end like this. _Taking a breath, America allowed his sight to return to his gloomy brother, fists clenching in determination. _I just can't let him give away land so easily like that, 'cause who knows where it'd end._ No, he wasn't going to let this drop, not this easily. _Who knows when that one piece he gives away will be that one piece too many. _He steeled himself for the rising discussion, prepared to fight until the end.

"Of course we're worried for you, Mattie," America spoke up, effectively gathering everyone's attention. "I mean, you're right with the land exchange being easy and all, and you totally _could_ just give stuff away to only a few dudes, but we're just hoping to find a more… convenient way, you know? A safer way. And, well, it's not like we know for certain that our way is even the answer, but it definitely _could_ work." He nodded his head as he spoke, as if he was convincing himself even as he was trying to convince the others. "We'd just take the embassy land – which is kind of a gray spot, right? – and then completely make it other nation's land. The embassy stuff already, um, has the rules of the other countries, so it shouldn't be too hard, especially if we just let the others know what we're doing. We'd just be like 'hey dudes, in the next week or so you're probably gonna get a lil' bit of Canadian territory, and y'all need to accept it, else this thing ain't gonna work. So yeah, we cool?' and then they'd be cool and yeah, it could totally work." America knew he was kind of struggling when it came to the rules and details surrounding this subject, but he made do with what he could remember. As long as the transfer happened, it would all work out in the end. "So guys," he asked, addressing his makeshift audience, and then, "Mattie," he looked specifically at his brother, "What do you think?"

Silence seemed to envelop the room then, and America could see that England and France were actually taking the time to seriously consider his words. And much to the western power's relief, even Canada seemed to be debating with himself over the argument. It wasn't perhaps the enthusiastic rally he had hoped for, but the American nation was just content that his argument wasn't being immediately shot down. Not wanting to see his brother's pessimistic expression, he found his gaze drawn towards England's pensive face, the older nation mulling over America's claims. The younger blond knew that if he could get England to back him up, that they would eventually manage to convince the other two. For some reason, the British nation just seemed to hold that kind of ability.

And as long as Canada would at least give this idea a try – as long as he didn't immediately jump into splitting himself up – America would be happy. He was the hero, and heroes didn't let their brothers fight alone, regardless of the nature of the battle.

After what felt like too long, England broke the silence, and America found himself sitting up straight in anticipation of his answer.

"It wasn't perhaps the most… eloquent way of arguing your opinion, but…" here the older nation seemed to consider his words, proceeding slowly and deliberately, "you do have a point. We haven't even tried getting other nations in on this. We could, at the very least, pass the idea by them."

"Exactly!" America replied enthusiastically, trying not to sound too relieved as he looked around at France and Canada. "And then all we'd have to do make sure we can actually give away the embassy land bits. Isn't that right, guys?"

France seemed to nod his head slightly, as if coming to terms with the idea. "Well yes, I suppose. With the way you're putting it, the notion doesn't seem as whimsical as I had originally thought."

America smiled widely as the atmosphere of the room lightened, the melancholy from earlier vanishing with each renewed consideration. Off to the left, he saw England cross his arms over his chest as he contemplated once again the concept of land transfer.

"The only uncertainty," the older man said, brow furrowed as he focused on America and France, "is that embassy land is typically very governmentally dependent. It is in the heart of a nation's capital, and as of such has direct association with the formal relations of a country."

"So…" America trailed off in question, not really getting what England was saying, but hoping that there would be no further complications in this already ambiguous plan.

England breathed deeply, an indescribable expression on his face. "That means we may need to inform Canada's government of our intentions."

America nodded in agreement, but still casted a quick glance over to his brother, already expecting the Canadian to strike up another argument over this fact. He frowned slightly when he was met with the sight of the northern nation biting his lower lip and wringing his hands together nervously, gaze locked onto the floor.

"But that shouldn't be too hard, right Mattie?" America asked hopefully. "I mean, your government is pretty laid back about most things." When no confirmation came, America asked again. "…Right, Mattie?"

"Well," Canada began slowly. "It's just… my government doesn't really…" he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, obviously struggling to get the words out. "My government and I don't really communicate all that well."

England raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Do you often disagree?" he asked, voicing the question they were all thinking.

Canada gave a small, noncommittal shrug. "No. I don't know… We just don't talk much." When this statement was met with a long, expectant silence, Canada reluctantly elaborated further. "They don't really inform me of what's going on or of any major decisions they've made. I usually end up figuring things out by myself by reading the paper or something. Or I call Parliament and ask, and even then the government officials take a while to recognize me, if at all." He spoke apologetically, as if he felt at fault for his timid, easily forgettable nature.

England hummed unhappily and France muttered something bitterly in French, both obviously displeased at Canada's words. And America also found himself a little angry at the northern government. He typically thought they were pretty chill, but he didn't like the idea of his brother not being recognized by even his own people. It just didn't sit well with him.

"But they would recognize me," America stated soundly, though he immediately regretted his words when Canada's face twisted into pained agreement. Yes, America would be recognized by Canadian officials, even if Canada himself wasn't. "What I mean to say," America corrected hastily, "is that if I show up _with_ you – and we could add in Artie and Francis too – that then we shouldn't have a problem, right? You can convince them about the embassy thing."

There was a long moment of silence, and America watched Canada intently for any sign of his upcoming answer. He was nearing the end of his resources, and he could tell that England and France had both run out of ideas as well. This was really his last try, and America hoped desperately that it would work.

"Al…" Canada's voice didn't sound too hopeful, and America found himself cutting in before his meager hope was lost altogether.

"Mattie, please, give it a chance."

Canada closed his eyes, mouth set in a thin line as he lowered his head, but it wasn't the look of a defeated person. No, instead it was the posture of someone debating with himself, replaying the arguments in his mind. America stayed silent, allowing his brother the time he needed. It was the only thing he could do.

Finally, Canada looked up at him, stare leaving the ground with an obviously conscious effort. America was surprised by the searching gaze, as if his brother was silently asking him something, and it took the western power a moment to realize that this was the look of Canada giving in. His brother was going to trust him, he was going to give it a chance.

America let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, letting the corners of his lips turn upwards in relief. "So Mattie," he probed gently, "what do ya' say? Are we in this together?"

The smallest of smiles pulled at Canada's face, turning his exhausted expression into something softer, the rigidness of his posture giving way as his shoulders drooped tiredly. And just like that, the tension of the room dissipated, the small gesture putting everyone at ease.

"Yeah," Canada replied, giving a verbal answer to America's question. "We are. Of course we are. We've been in this together since the beginning, haven't we? I don't know why I thought I could shake you off so easily in the first place. You're much too stubborn." The words were delivered with the intonation of a light jab, but America recognized the silent 'thank you' interwoven in the sentences.

"Exactly," he said, grinning. "And I always told ya' that one day I'd get the world to acknowledge you. So just hang in there Mattie," America hoped his brother would recognize the sincerity of his words. "I promise you we're almost there."


	31. Relaxation

**So I finished my last exam of the year, walked into my varsity team's change room, sat down in front of my locker, and wrote the entire ending to this chapter. I was _determined_ to get it done. Blarg.**

**And here I am, posting it, hallelujah. That said, sorry for the longish delay. Hopefully things will become a little more consistent from here on out. **

**I also want to say thank you for the really great reviews you guys left last chapter. You had some good pointers and I really appreciated the feedback. I send you all my love.**

**I still own nothing. (I was kind of hoping to get the rights to Hetalia for my birthday, but sadly that didn't pan out.)**

**Enjoy. **

* * *

It had taken a while to convince everyone that a simple, formal approach would be the best means of communicating Canada's boss and respective government.

_No, that's not quite it_, England huffed silently to himself as he revised that last thought, contemplating the events of the past couple of weeks. It hadn't taken a while to convince _everyone _that a simple and formal approach would be ideal in this situation, since the majority of their ragtag quartet of nations had agreed that subtly was important.

It had taken a while to convince _America_.

_The twit's heart is in the right place, but it amazes me to think that he would have truly tried to singlehandedly convince an entire neighbouring nation of this rather piecemeal plan._

It had been a bit more difficult than England had expected to persuade the unpredictable American not to just barge unexpectedly into Canada's Parliament, causing untold destruction all in the name of justice.

America had claimed it wouldn't be destruction. And also that justice needed to be delivered, so if there _was_ any destruction, it would be unavoidable heroic destruction.

Luckily for England, Canada had spoken up at this point and told his brother that while he appreciated America's unquestionable desire to help, that maybe they could do things a little more… delicately. And suddenly, faster than England could have offered up an additional argument, America had agreed.

_I'll have to talk with the lad to see how he manages that daft brother of his so easily. _England allowed a brief smile to cross his face, thankful that Canada would in all likelihood be soon freed from this longstanding issue. The timid nation deserved to have this concern of non-existence put behind him.

A flight attendant passed through England's first-class cabin, stopping momentarily by the nation's seat as she asked the Brit something about refreshments, which he waved off politely. Then a few minutes passed where England sat in a kind of non-silence, the plane rattling normally around him as vague voices drifted through the aisles. Out of absentminded boredom, England found his thoughts returning to the circumstances of a few weeks ago.

As soon as they had all been in agreement, it had become an issue of hurry up and wait. England, America and Canada had managed to put together a request to send to Canada's government, and France had conveniently provided home access to his own government's international communications. The proposal for a proper meeting had then been quickly sent over to the Canadian Parliament. Once that had been finished, all that had been left to do was await the answer, hoping the date for a meeting would arrive sooner rather than later.

At that point, they had decided they would go their separate ways, concluding that they would meet up again for their joint proposal on separating Canadian embassy land. Goodbyes had been said, in varying degrees of sincerity, and then a rather relieved Frenchman had been left alone.

Just before driving away, England had grudgingly thanked France for his help, purposely ignoring the amused glint in the French nation's eyes as he had set his vehicle in reverse and mercifully set off towards home.

America and Canada had both taken a jet back to America's country, where the two of them likely stayed together at the American's house (since England had later found out that Canada had never been issued a government home).

_That a nation could so easily be forgotten by his own country, it is truly a shocking thing. _England cast his gaze out the tiny oval window, watching the sparse clouds and blue sky. _It amazes me that he's managed to stay so well adjusted these past centuries, as completely isolated as he was. _He hummed in thought, mind still occupied by this current idea. _I suppose we have Alfred to thank for that, always sticking beside Matthew, even at the risk of appearing delusional in front of other nations. Without him, Matthew truly would have alone, unable to really communicate with anyone. It pains me to think what would have happened then._

England blinked a few times as he tried to dispel the rapidly growing depression, understanding that yes, things could have gotten rather unbearable for the Canadian, but that wasn't what had happened. If anything, this current situation had Canada – along with everyone else – fast on the road to recovery.

But England couldn't help but grimace slightly, still feeling that stubborn knot of guilt twist in his stomach. If only he hadn't forced things, those hundreds of years ago… England shook himself free from those thoughts. Now was not the time to think of such things. Perhaps later, once this had been put long behind them. And so England pushed the guilt aside, forcing his mind to return to thoughts that were a bit more healthy. Idly, his reflection started up where it had left off.

Less than two weeks after they had parted ways, England had found himself once again meeting up with the two North American brothers and one particularly annoying Frenchman. It had taken eleven days for their request to the Canadian government to be formally accepted.

England sighed, sitting back in his seat as he remembered the painfully awkward hour that the meeting had taken to come to a decision. Despite the relatively calm expression he had managed to maintain during the discussion, the British nation easily recalled the surprise he had felt when he discovered that Canada's government actually _did_ have the capability to see their nation.

England had – with good reason – been under the impression that Canada was for the most part invisible to his own people.

_The lad had mentioned that his government didn't really communicate with him_, England thought in his defense,_ and he's their representative!_ It had sounded like to England that in addition to the northern nation being an unseen presence amongst other national representatives, Canada was also nothing more than a ghost to his own government and society.

In that case, regardless of how unfortunate the circumstance was, England could understand why Canada was regrettably left out of his own country's proceedings. His government was not to blame, since just like the rest of the world's nations, they lacked the ability to actually physically interact with their representative.

But then England had found that it was only Canada's forgetful nature that had led to the government's shocking lack of communication. They could in fact see him, should they take the time to do so.

England realized that it likely didn't help that Canada was also not quite as – for lack of a better word – _alive_ as the other national representatives. But still, the older nation could not disregard the facts presented before him.

Canada had been ignored this whole time by his own bloody people.

Needless to say, England had not been pleased.

But he had tried to push aside his discontentment in order to focus on the discussion at hand, which had gotten off track at a surprisingly fast pace. America had skipped right ahead to the land proposal part, talking unreservedly in that awful slang-ridden English to Canada's boss. France had slid up to a pretty Québécoise official, flirting with her in affluent French as he leaned against a rather important looking antique cabinet. And Canada had merely stood off to the side in wide-eyed silence, his ill-fated lack of presence making him essentially disappear from sight.

_It's almost supernatural, the lad's ability to just completely escape notice. Perhaps it comes from being invisible for years on end, or something to do with his unique type of existence._

England's thoughts snapped back to the present at the cackle of noise and a low drawn out beep that buzzed through the plane's speakers.

"Hello, this is your captain speaking. We'll be arriving at Heathrow Airport in…"

England shook his head, blinking a few times as the droning voice continued over the intercom, informing the flight's passengers about their upcoming landing. The nine hour voyage was almost over, and England found that he suddenly overcome by a wave of exhaustion.

_Bloody jetlag. I'm likely going to feel completely out of sorts for the next few days. _He grunted unhappily as he straightened his seatback and pulled the lose strap of his seatbelt tight across his lap. _I suppose it was worth it, though. It seems as if our proposal will indeed get passed by Canada's government._

The meeting in Canada's capital had luckily returned to something a little more regulated after a few choice words by England, an offer for refreshments by a sub-official assistant, and a quiet plea from Canada. The four of them had actually managed to band together and put forth a coherent explanation of the situation (while leaving out one or two specific details), and they even accomplished a reasonable description of the entire idea behind the allocation of embassy land. All in all, England felt that it had been a valiant effort.

And by the end of the hour discussion, Canada's boss had seemed – for the most part – to support their proposition. Of course the country was still a democracy, and there would need to be a formal vote for the proposal amongst some of the nation's higher officials, but there was a sense of accomplishment at the end of the meeting that England could feel emanating from nearly all of the room's occupants.

It had been a relief, getting over that metaphorical hurdle. And Canada, in his own way, had seemed positively exhilarated at participating in the political discussion. He had been a bit uncertain at first about speaking up – quite likely due to his inexperience – but quickly became a key asset in the conversation. He was a natural peace keeper, effectively diffusing tension, and while a little meek at times, Canada was the perfect buffer for America's boisterous attitude.

_If the lad could somehow learn to overcome his timid nature, he would become a very powerful voice at the world conferences._ England briefly allowed himself to think about the future, a small smile on his face. Knowing Canada, this would bring nothing but good things to the rest of the world.

"... and please keep seated with your seatbelts fasted until we safely arrive at the gate. Thank you for travelling with us and we hope that your stay is enjoyable…"

The speakers continued to drone on, the slightest bit of static interlaced between the words, as the captain finished in post-flight spiel. England sighed as he leaned back in his chair, having practically memorized the typical airliner speech from his numerous travels over the years. He was rather looking forward to finally getting home and curling up on his favorite chair or stretching out under the covers of his cozy bed. It felt like he had been away for far too long, when in reality he had only been out of his country for a few days. But still, England couldn't help his tired desire to just be _home_. To just spend a day completely unbound by any responsibilities or restrictions. A day to just relax.

The next day, however, would be devoted to making a few key phone calls to a few specific nations.

"Bloody hell, that's going to be a pain, isn't it?" England muttered quietly to himself as the plane finally arrived at their gate.

But they had agreed that it had to be done. The other nations – at very least the remainder of the G8 – should be informed of the situation. They perhaps wouldn't be given a full account, but England did believe that they should be notified of the probable change regarding their embassy land in Canadian territory.

And of course, since England didn't trust France or America to hold a civil conversation with the other nations (and Canada wouldn't even be _heard_), the responsibility was left to him.

_Why do I do this to myself?_ He pondered the thought as he made his way through the busy airport, nodding his head politely to a few officers he recognized. _Oh, yes, probably since I promised I would help them_. The North American brothers immediately jumped into the forefront of his mind. _And what a promise that was…_ But England couldn't deny the kind of paternal pride that now came with the thought of those two nations.

He supposed that things were indeed changing for the better.

And as England settled himself in the back of the black government-issued vehicle that had been sent to pick him up, he felt gratified by the idea that this problem was nearly resolved.

The drive to his large Victorian house felt much longer than its actual fifteen minutes. And although it was early in the evening, the moment England entered his home, he found his steps leading him straight up the stairs to his bed, completely forgoing his usual cup of late-afternoon tea.

Sleep came easy, and his dreams, as they had been for the past few weeks, were guilt free.

xxx

The phone calls went surprisingly well.

Of course, England had capriciously decided to leave out the actual revelation of Canada's existence, instead limiting his conversations with the other nations to a simple forewarning about the embassy land. With only that topic of discussion, the fifteen or so calls that England made (he decided to include the entire G20) only took up about two hours of his time.

It wasn't without good reason that he left out the catch of this entire aspiration.

"You see," he said steadily into the mouth piece of his telephone, "A gradual means of exposure would likely benefit us more than any sudden, impersonal admission."

"Uh, what?" America's voice ended on a flat note, and England could easily picture the younger nation's raised eyebrow. "You keep talking in these flow-y words, dude. Just give it to me straight – Did you tell 'em about Mattie, yes or no?"

England sighed, taking a few easy steps across the space of his kitchen. "No, Alfred, I did not." He pushed aside the desire to make a quip about America's lack of proper vocabulary. "Regardless of what we've said or done on our part, the matter still stands that the other nations will likely disregard whatever we tell them without quite giving us a chance."

"Oh, right," America huffed with just the slightest hint of exasperation. "That'll be 'cause we're a bunch of delusional nutjobs. How could I forget?" England could tell America's frustration wasn't aimed at him, but it was easy to remember when it had been. A lot had changed these past few weeks.

"Once Canada can actually be seen by the other nations, we will have a much easier time convincing them that he is the representation of his country."

"Well duh, of course," America replied vapidly. "But if we're just gonna wait 'til then, why did we bring Francy-pants into this?"

England covered his brief bout of laugher with a cough. "Francis? Yes, well," he recovered, shifting the phone to his other hand. "We wanted another means of support, remember? Someone who the others didn't consider, um, prone to delusions." He paused momentarily before continuing. "And I had also somewhat owed him an explanation. He'll be useful once the time comes to convince the others."

America snorted. "Right, I guess that makes sense." England heard the muted sound of footsteps. "So are we thinking we'd just have Mattie stand up and talk during a meeting and say something really important or whatev's so that we can be all like 'bam, here's Canada, bitches' and stuff," America took a moment to breathe, "or, you know, do something else?"

"Aren't you just poetic?" England said flatly, eliciting an indignant "hey!" from America. "However," England continued, "having Matthew speak up for himself is likely the best course of action. We'll want to make sure the other nations see your brother as an independent, self-reliant individual. He can't always be reliant on you, Alfred."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that."

"Right now, maybe." England leaned against the kitchen counter. "But once Matthew steps onto the world stage, he'll need to be his own person. Of course he will often be associated with you – there's no changing that fact – but you're going to have to let Matthew represent himself. Alone."

England paused in anticipation of America's answer, but was met with only silence.

"Alfred," he pressed, a frown starting to make itself known. "You do understand this, right?"

There was a cough from the other side of the phone. "Yeah, I understand," the younger nation eventually said. "It's just… I dunno… I'd feel weird leaving Mattie out to fend for himself." America then huffed quietly into the speaker, static distorting his voice. "What if he needs me? I've always been the _only_ one there for him, you know… "

England waited for America to continue, but the younger nation let his words end there. In the silence that followed, England searched for something to say, shifting awkwardly against the counter-top before finally speaking up.

"Ah, yes, you always have. Been there for him, that is." He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then continued, voice holding just the smallest amounts of hesitation. "And you… you've done well, Alfred. You've done really well. Matthew will be fine. You don't need to worry. He… he will be alright on his own. And you'll always be there if he needs help." England looked down at the floor, suddenly glad for the barrier of a phone call. He didn't need to focus on keeping a straight face.

America didn't need to know how personal those words were to England.

The silence was held a beat longer than England thought necessary, but then America finally spoke up.

"Yeah." A brief cough. "Yeah, of course he will." There was a cackle of white noise as the phone was moved around, but then America's words continued, tone subdued. "And, um, thanks Arthur. What you said… it means a lot, coming from you." The admission was followed by an awkward kind of laughter, which quickly faded into silence. The quiet lingered for a moment until America continued. "But yeah, anyways, I just want to make sure Mattie doesn't feel abandoned or anything. 'Cause I'll always be there for him."

"I never said you wouldn't be," England offered in answer, looking up from the floor. "And I'm sure your brother knows you wouldn't abandon him. None of us will." His free hand came up to rub at his eyes, the older nation still feeling a little out-of-sorts from the long flight home. "How _is_ Matthew, by the way? He must be fairly happy that the meeting with his government went so well."

"Oh, Mattie? Yeah, he's good. Been really kind of energetic too." America laughed lightly into the phone, and England was glad for the sense of normalness it brought back. "He's making some kind of fruity pancakes right now, and before that he was going on about how exciting it was to talk to his boss. It doesn't sound like much, but it's weirdly bubbly for him."

"Well that's good then," England said, picking up on the good vibes. "You see, Matthew is going to be fine."

"I know, I know," the younger nation said with an accepting chuckle. And then, with a little more vigor, "And it's going to be great to see everyone's faces when they realize Mattie's real. I'm kinda excited for that. Really excited, even. Though I think Mattie's a little nervous, part of his energetic-ness, you know?"

"Nervous, huh?" England took a moment to think about the subdued Canadian and realized in that the little time he'd known him, Canada always seemed to be in some kind of state of nervousness. "More so than usual?"

"Hah, yeah actually. I think," America answered offhandedly. "It's why he's so jumpy." He hummed slightly in thought before elaborating. "It's like he's worried about everything while at the same time being totally excited for it. One moment he'll be all uptight about the embassy land thing, and then the next he's telling me about the people he's always wanted to talk to and how it's going to be so great to hold conversations with them. It's like he's… what's the word…" America made a _tut_-ing sound with his tongue as he thought. "…It's like he's, uh, rollercoaster-ing or something. Up down, bouncy quiet, happy worried. It's kind of weird, but entertaining at the same time."

England blinked at the overwhelming influx of words that had just spilled forth from the American's lips. "Oh, I see," he managed to say intelligently as he shifted his grip on the phone. "Well that sounds… understandable, I suppose." He nodded a little bit as he spoke. "This is an important thing to Matthew – to all of us. I can see why he would be a little wound-up."

"You think so?"

"Yes," England replied, and felt appeased by America's hum of acceptance. The older nation continued. "But you'll be sure to let me know if anything significant happens though, right? With either your brother or his government." It was a customary question, and England expected a simple, cavalier answer from the American, but was instead met with substantial hesitation. England suddenly wished he could see America's expression.

America's response came not long afterwards. "Yeah, sure thing dude," he finally said, voice sounding just one notch calmer than his usual exuberance. And although it was difficult to discern exactly why the younger nation had hesitated, England was unexpectedly struck with the idea that America honestly wasn't used to having any kind of support with respect to his brother.

_He was probably caught off guard with my question, even though it was a fairly normal thing to ask, _England found himself thinking as America's voice continued over the phone.

"I'll be sure to let you know if anything happens." There was a thankful kind of laugh before the American spoke again. "So, anyways, I guess for now we're just gonna, uh, sit tight and wait?" he asked in a rhetorical fashion, already barging forwards with his next words. "And just hope that everything works out all awesome like so that next meeting we can initiate plan 'Make Mattie Stand Out'? Because I think that's a pretty good strategy. Hey, when is the next meeting, anyways?"

"Um, in a couple weeks." England replied arbitrarily, baffled by America's ability to just bounce from serious to happy-go-lucky at the drop of a hat. "And really Alfred – you've already coined it as some kind of plan?" He rolled his eyes, even though he knew America couldn't see it. "You're really quite something, aren't you?" he added affably.

"That's what Mattie always tells me," America answered keenly, and England easily pictured the younger nation puffing out his chest like some kind of proud child, ignoring the thinly-veiled jab. "Funny how he never seemed to be interested in my superhero plans though, you would think that– oh, wait a second." There was a flurry of noise as the phone was moved around and a few voices called distantly in the background. England held the receiver away from his ear as he waited for America to return.

_What_ _is he doing over there?_ England found himself thinking with a raised eyebrow. It didn't take too long to find out.

"Hey Artie." America quickly returned to the phone, voice drifting excitedly through the speaker. "Mattie says he's finished the pancakes so I gotta go now, 'kay?" His words held an enthusiasm that only America could pull off. "They have these little fruit bits in them though so I'll have to use lots of maple syrup, but yeah…" he trailed off fleetingly before rapidly speaking again. "Okay, so, nice chat. Great talking with ya'. You need to say anything else or can I go?"

England involuntarily let out a short sigh, but allowed a passing smile to pull at his lips. "No, there's nothing else, you're free to go. Just remember what we talked about and be sure to let us know if anything arises. And stay out of trouble," he ended good-naturedly.

"Haha, yeah, sure. Whatev's."

England rolled his eyes. "Goodbye."

"See ya'."

The line disconnected with a click, noise abruptly stopping. England stood in the silence of his kitchen for a few moments before letting out a loud exhalation of air. It had been a long morning, and the afternoon was already waning, but he was glad that everything seemed to be coming together. Taking a few steps across the room, the British nation returned his phone to the cradle, thoughts focused on the end of America and Canada's ordeal. It felt to him like it was a long time coming, and England could only imagine how it must have been for the North American brothers, waiting for more than a century for a near-impossible resolution.

But it was almost done. All there was left to do – as America had so eloquently put it earlier – was sit tight and wait. Wait the law they had proposed to hopefully get passed. Wait for some kind of confirmation that their idea of embassy land does indeed work with Canada. Wait for a meeting to introduce Canada to the world.

Wait for the world to accept him. To accept Matthew Williams.

And England could only hope that it would all work out in the end.


	32. Foundation

**So I had this grand vision of summer = time to write, but it seems like I was slightly off in my calculation. Apparently it's actually summer = work = time where did you go? I think that pretty much sums it up, doesn't it? **

**So I'm sorry it's been over three weeks, and I hope that all of you have been well in whatever ventures you may be up to at the moment, but I've returned, hurrah. And it's nearly over, guys. I can actually see the ending, it's that close. So I hope you're all up to sticking with me for the long anticipated conclusion. :)**

**Thank you all for your wonderful support. **

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Canada hadn't really known he was so dreadfully worried about the proposal for independent embassy land until they finally got the news that the law had actually been passed.

He felt nearly weak with relief, and probably would have collapsed or maybe even cried a little had America not been standing in the exact same room. He wasn't that pathetic, he tried to tell himself, even as he discreetly wiped away a stray tear when America had hugged him tightly.

Something so small shouldn't have affected him this deeply, but he was just so happy that finally, finally he wouldn't be forcedly cut-off from the rest of the world. He wouldn't be invisible, he wouldn't be a burden.

And when the law came into effect, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. And in a way, it kind of had.

He no longer legitimately possessed that little bit of land that connected him to various nations around the world. Oh he was still connected to it – and that was exactly what they wanted – but those pieces of land had ceased to be embedded into Canada's own jigsaw of substance and instead became fully represented by their original nations. All those little pinpoints of light, which Canada hadn't really known existed until they suddenly weren't there, faded away. It wasn't unpleasant, but Canada still found it a little odd.

"It's like I'm full of holes," he found himself telling America as they packed their suitcases. There was a G20 meeting coming up in Paris and they had decided they would meet up with France a few days early. It would give them ample time to discuss plans and reinforce ideas before going through with the intention of introducing Canada to the world.

"Um, you know that doesn't sound too good, right?" America looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Canada stuffed one last hoodie into his suitcase, closing the zipper without too much trouble before giving his brother a pacifying smile. "It's not a _bad_ kind of feeling," he said honestly. "Just kind of weird. Like little tiny holes. I'm fine though."

America gave one last assessing glance before shrugging his shoulders. "Okay then, if you say so, bro." There was a grunt of exertion as America forced his own bag closed, practically sitting on it in an attempt to ease the process. He then looked at Canada with an amused expression. "And holes, huh? I guess that would make you kinda… _hole_-y." He chuckled. "Heh, get it? Holy, 'cause of the holes…"

"Har har," Canada offered in answer, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

America laughed a little more genuinely beside him, rolling off of the suitcase and bed and standing up next to Canada. "Gotta admit dude, it was clever. And don't look at me like that, I know you love me." He grinned widely as he patted Canada's back. "And I know you're gonna love some of the others, too. Kiku and Toris – you know them, right? – they're pretty cool and quiet like you. You'll be like three peas in a pod, or however that saying's supposed to go."

"Really, Al?"

Ignoring Canada's look of amused skepticism, America reached for both of their suitcases, hefting them with little trouble and easily carrying them out of the room. "Yes, really. Now c'mon bro, let's get this show on the road!"

Giving his head a small shake, Canada followed with a quiet sigh.

They had been on the road for ten minutes, nearly at the airport, when Canada spoke up again.

"Hey Al?" he asked, making sure to pitch his voice above the drone of the radio.

"Hmm, yeah?" America replied, reaching over to turn down the music, keeping one hand on the wheel. He had decided to drive himself instead of accepting the offer of a government chauffeur.

Canada looked out the window at the passing cars before answering. "Do you think this is really going to work?"

America didn't even ask what Canada was referring to. "Of course it will. Why wouldn't it?"

Canada took a deep breath in the silence of the car. "What if it's too small? The land. Or what if it just doesn't work? What if we were wrong?" Canada pressed his lips in a tight line, refusing to look over at America. He hated these feelings of apprehension that would randomly overtake him. He had always been prone to them, but the bouts of fearfulness had gotten increasingly insistent over the past couple of weeks. He couldn't control it, and it upset him that something he should be happy about was worrying him so much.

"You're doing it again," America said slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, Canada saw his southern brother give him a quick glance.

"I'm doing what?" Canada humored, even though he knew exactly what he was doing.

"The rollercoaster-ing. You're back down to unhappy again. Just… don't worry too much, 'kay? Everything is going to be alright, I promise."

Canada wanted to believe him, to just wait out this change of mood until the worry dissipated, but his next words slipped through his lips unbidden.

"What if they just don't care about me…?"

America swerved slightly as he tore his eyes off the road, giving Canada an upset look. There was a tense moment where the northern nation studiously avoided America's stare. Finally, the western power spoke.

"They _are_ gonna care about you, Mattie," America proclaimed seriously, reluctantly returning his sight to the road after failing to catch Canada's eye. "You're important."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are, dammit. Why would you even think you aren't?"

Canada breathed deeply as he slumped in his chair, allowing his gaze to wander up to the passenger window. "I don't know," he answered truthfully, hands twisting in the material of his shirt. "It's just… the others don't even know me. T-they don't even know I _exist_." An uncontrollable sense of anxiety seemed to twist in his stomach. "And what happens if they _liked_ it that way? What happens if they didn't want me to exist? What if they never wanted to see me?"

He wanted to stop talking, wanted America to interrupt him, but America stayed strangely silent and Canada's words kept coming.

"What if – even if they _can_ see me – what if I'm still invisible?"

Canada heard America swallow heavily. "You can't be invisible if they can see you, Mattie."

"But I could be. They might just not care that I'm there." Canada closed his eyes as he listened to the silence around him, feeling entirely self-conscious. "I'd be just as invisible as I always have been."

America slowed down the car as they approached the exit for the airport, and then, after what felt like a long moment, he spoke.

"Mattie…" he said deliberately, voice strained. "You're _not_ going to be invisible anymore, okay? They'll be able to see you, and they'll _care_. Mattie– Matt, listen to me." Canada felt a light tap on his arm, and he reluctantly opened his eyes if only to show that he was listening. America pulled back his arm to grip the steering wheel in both hands. "They will be able to see you," he repeated. "Just like Artie and Francis, okay? And they care, don't they? The others will too. I'll make sure of it."

America's words made Canada think of the two other European nations. The way that had reacted when they finally realized he had existed. The way they had offered to help – the way they _had_ helped. The way they had _cared_.

America was right, and Canada tried to hold on to that feeling.

The silence in the car was starting to feel drawn out, so Canada took a deep breath, internalizing his brother's words. "I… I know you will Al. And… thank you." He could still feel the awful sense of anxiety in the back of his mind, but it was somewhat subdued.

America smiled. "No problem. The hero always looks out for his bro."

"Heh, of course." Canada could feel the claws of the gripping apprehension start to loosen, and he could tell he was gradually coming out of this latest attack on his self-assurance. With a small sigh he rested the back of his head against his seat. "Hey Al," he found himself saying, and was content that he didn't sound nearly as despairing as before. "You'll help make sure I'm not forgotten, right? I… I don't want to be forgotten." He wasn't quite certain where the forgotten thing came from, but it seemed important to make sure it wouldn't happen.

America's response was quick and confident. "Of course. What are brothers for?" America ventured another glance to Canada, and this time was rewarded by a half-smile. "Because I mean c'mon, seriously, who could forget you? You're like the biggest country in the world or something."

"That's Russia, actually."

"Well he's a creepy bastard so he doesn't count," America retorted tactlessly, and despite the nature of the words Canada could hear the laughter in his voice. The northern nation supressed a smile, feeling for the most part back to normal. It had been like this for the past few weeks, too. Whenever he would fall into the suffusing anxiety, his brother would be there to easily pull him back out.

He knew the majority of the other nations would call America immature and irresponsible, but to him, America was the most dependable and trustworthy person that he had ever known.

"Thank you," Canada said again, strongly, honestly. "For everything."

"Hey, no need to thank me for some commie bashing. Russia deserves it."

"You know what I meant."

America grinned at him. "Yeah, I know. But seriously, you don't have to thank me for sticking with ya'. Brothers 'til the end, right?"

They rolled to a stop at the airport drop-off area. Canada smiled. "Yes, and thank you, again."

America's eyes were bright and his smile was sincere and Canada was genuinely grateful to have him at his side. And as their plane took off an hour and a half later, Canada figured that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get through the rest of this ordeal without freaking out again.

xXx

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm just really freaking out here."

Canada snapped his mouth shut as he tried to reign in his rampant apprehension. It didn't work. Taking a deep breath, he found himself looking quickly from America to France and then back to America again. America looked as confident as ever, albeit slightly concerned for Canada, while France sat elegantly in a large armchair off to the side, a minor look of disquiet visible in the twist of his mouth.

America took a step in Canada's direction. "But it's gonna be perfectly fine, Mattie. We just need to test if–"

"I _know_," Canada cut in suddenly, eyes widening when he realized he had completely interrupted his brother. "Oh, I'm sorry, really sorry. I didn't mean– I know you're just trying to help. I just can't… I don't know. I'm sorry."

Canada forced himself to stop rambling as he once again clasped his mouth closed. He shot one last wide-eyed look at America before turning abruptly on his heel and pacing brusquely to the end of the room. He heard movement behind him before America spoke up.

"If you really don't want to do it Mattie, then ya' don't have to." Canada stared resolutely at the wall in front of as he forced down his seemingly endless anxiety. America continued talking. "We just wanted to test the embassy land thing, remember? Just to make sure. Nothing risky or anything. All Francis is gonna do is return the bit of land from before and– hey Mattie? Dude, you okay? You even breathing over there?"

Canada couldn't help the fretful sigh that rushed past his lips. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's just…" He closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have this numbing worry. "God, it's just the same as before. I keep thinking that… that's it's not going to work. I know you said… but still, what if Francis gives me back the land and then he can no longer see me… because the remaining embassy land he has is too small… What if– what if he _forgets_ me?" He cringed at the warped pitch of his words, voice breaking at the end of his sentence.

There was the sound of a few solid steps as America approached Canada's position at the other end of the room. But as the northern nation felt a warm hand rest soundly on his shoulder, it was France's voice that broke the silence.

"It will work." No beating around the bush, no embellished lead-ups, no extravagant narratives, it was just the plain straight certainty of a clear, unwavering truth. It was so completely unlike France that Canada's eyes snapped opened in surprise, body moving slightly under America's hand. Unconsciously, he half turned to face the open room, twisting marginally towards his brother as France continued speaking.

"That was your first concern, _oui_? That it wouldn't work?" Canada could just make out the French nation shifting in the large armchair, body facing in their direction. "You should not worry about that, because it _will_." Again with that absolute certainty. "And this makes your second concern moot – I _will_ be able to see you, Mattieu. Do not fret over this. I know it's in your nature to worry over every little thing, but _s'il vous plaît_, be at ease."

Canada fully turned to face France, and America's hand slipped off his shoulder. He could hear his brother's comforting soft chuckle at France's words, but at the moment Canada paid him no mind. Instead, he focused on the Frenchman's frankly sincere expression, the elder nation having moved to sit at the edge of his seat, likely ready to get up and join the North American brothers if need be. Through his slowly circulating anxiety, Canada felt a growing measure of reassurance. It was hard to deny the open support he was so obviously being presented with. And France's next words all but erased that last knot of doubt still twisting in Canada's gut.

"And I will never, ever forget you." His eyes were trained solely on the Canadian nation, and had Canada taken time to pull his attention away from listening to France's words, he probably would have shied away from the intensity of his stare. "I never _have_ forgotten you. It's true that I may not have believed in your existence, but know it's true when I say that I have never forgotten you, Mattieu." His serious features were then softened by the smile that grew on his lips. "I don't need to see you to remember you, _mon cher_. So you can rest easy about your worries. It will all work out."

"But it wasn't me who you remembered… it was the other one." Canada's voice was so quiet that he wasn't sure the nation standing beside him had heard it, let alone France sitting across the room. But his worry was answered all the same.

"You may not have those memories," France said, moving into a standing position. "And you may feel like a completely different Mattieu altogether." He took a few steps into the room. "But it has always been _you_ who I have remembered. The gentle, caring nation of Canada."

The tense line of Canada's shoulders evened out ever so slightly as the young nation exhaled loudly through his nose. That darkly aching spot in his chest seemed marginally appeased by the warmth that France's words provided. And America's brilliant grin only helped reinforce that feeling of support. His brother was quick to echo France's statements.

"Yeah bro, you'll see. Everything's gonna be fine." He skipped back towards the center of the room and shot Canada a happy look over his shoulder. "We're all here for you. And if you still don't want to regain that bit of land from Francy-Pants, then that's alright. 'Cuz we're already absolutely certain that the embassy thing worked anyway, so yeah, it's fine. Whatever doesn't make you all panicky again." There was a small searching look behind America's smile, but Canada found that he really didn't mind. He actually felt comforted by the concern and allowed his appreciation to show through the slight upturn of his lips.

"Thanks Al. And Francis, what you said really means a lot to me." He did his best to give them each as meaningful a long as possible, trying not to shy away from the eye contact. "And I think I'm doing okay now… doing better at least. The shaky feeling is gone." He sighed lightly and focused on relaxing his still-taught muscles. "It's just the, uh, anxiety attacks, you know… um, yeah. I'm sorry, really. But thank you… again."

"Ah, _c'est rien_, Mattieu," France replied with a perfectly casual wave of his hand. "There's no need to apologize for something you can't control."

"I really wish I _could_ control it, though." Canada took a few careful steps further into the room, moving away from the wall he had sought earlier for protection.

France's light smile took on a briefly contemplative look. "I'm sure it will all calm down once we have the world revelation done and over with, _non_?"

"Yeah bro, Franny's right. Just think about it – once all the really nerve-wracking stuff is behind ya', it'll be smooth sailing."

Canada tried not to think about the nerve-wracking stuff. He couldn't imagine what it will feel like to get up in front of the world and actually have them all looking at him. "I– I guess so. You're probably both right," he acquiesced, finally coming to stand next to his brother in the center of the room.

"The hero is always right, dude. You gotta remember that."

Canada let out a breath of laughter and France did a dramatic roll of his eyes, resting back in his seat. Everything had been effectively calmed down, and Canada could tell that the conversation would gradually move away from the current subject and on to more benign, mundane things.

But Canada's thoughts, for some reason, still hovered around the source of the previous discussion.

He had felt weak and afraid before, but in the wake of his friend's words Canada now felt some measure of certainty. Taking a deep breath, Canada knew he had to speak up now before that certainty faded again. Turning his gaze to the relaxed Frenchman, Canada squared his shoulders and did his best to appear confident.

"Francis, I want to try it." Out of the corner of his eye Canada could see America turn to him in slight surprise, while in front of him France tilted his head in confusion. "I want to test the embassy land," Canada elaborated, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. "You guys did have a good point about that, and… And I feel like I can handle it now. I can try it."

"You don't need to force yourself, Mattie," America began, but Canada could tell he was just doing it out of principle. Truthfully, Canada knew that his brother wanted him to regain the previously lost chunks of land from their initial attempt at having Canada seen.

"I know," Canada said, looking briefly over at America before returning his gaze to the increasingly intent Frenchman. "And I'm not. I… panicked before." He tied for a relaxed smile, to show that the anxiety was no longer affecting him, but Canada couldn't deny that he was feeling somewhat nervous.

"But you're okay now?" America asked as a means of confirmation more so than a legitimate question.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Al," Canada replied, just slightly restless. He appreciated his brother's thoughtfulness, but if America kept testing Canada's confidence then Canada was certain he would soon fall into the '_No I'm not sure, help me'_ category.

America smiled assuredly. "Okay, okay, I get it bro. And I think you're doing the right thing, too."

Canada returned the smile, somewhat wobbly, and took a step and a half towards France. "Francis…?" he found himself asking, his request compressed into that single word.

"You are ready to reclaim your former section of land, _mon cher_?" France voiced the sentence as an inquiry, sitting forwards in his seat, elbows on his knees.

Canada pushed back his nervousness. "Yes, yes I am." He nodded in addition to his words, as if to amplify his acceptance.

America clasped a hand on his shoulder, and Canada jumped slightly at the sudden movement, but he kept his eyes on France, waiting to see what would happen next. There was a single moment of silence – a chance for Canada to back out, the northern nation realized – and then France smiled at the pair of brothers and closed his eyes.

Canada's own eyes widened infinitesimally before abruptly closing as well. The darkness surrounded him, and the quiet was only broken by soundless breathing and Canada's own heartbeat. He hadn't thought they would start the process so quickly, but in the back of his mind Canada supposed that there was no time like the present. The suddenness of the event also prevented the Canadian nation from get too caught up in the what-if's and it-could-go-wrong's.

Through the oddly calming silence came France's voice, sounding easy and relaxed and not nearly as anxious as Canada felt.

"I've let it go. All you need to do is find it, Mattieu."

Canada let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding and found himself focusing his attention towards the darkness around him. He worked on peeling away the inky black, looking carefully beyond it recover that lost bit of light. America's hand did a great job of centering his being, something that Canada found himself unexpectedly grateful for, and Canada allowed his mind to wander in search of the blue luminosity that represented a piece of his land.

_There it is_.

The tips of his fingers tingled slightly as Canada retrieved the fragment of his land. Despite the month and a half that it had been separated from his own existence, the recovered fragment still fit perfectly back into its spot. A puzzle piece falling easily into place. There was still a small hole that pulsed near the origin of this portion of this land – a missing fragment that Canada knew England still had – but at the moment, the return of one of Canada's surrendered pieces washed over the northern nation like a breath of relief.

_I don't feel any less visible_. And it was true. Canada still felt just as solid and noticeable as before. He could still feel America's hand on his shoulder, and he was still distinctly aware of the French nation that sat across from him. There had been no gasps of surprise, no murmurs of disappointment when France realized he could no longer see the younger Canadian. And so, Canada found himself thinking with hope, _it must have worked_.

All that was left was to open his eyes and see.

Canada's lids fluttered open, revealing the bright room he stood in. He took a deep breath and raised his head.

France, now standing, smiled widely back at him.

"Bravo, Mattieu. It worked perfectly."

* * *

**Fancy little legend of _French Words_ that were used in this chapter.**

**_S'il vous plaît - _Please  
**_****__Mon cher - _**My dear  
**_****__C'est rien - _**It's nothing (can mean 'You're Welcome')**

**And, uh, yeah. There you have it. See you all soon.**


End file.
